Seventh Wish
by Just-kimian
Summary: Makoto, a priest privileged enough to live in a palace has an odd job. He blesses the men who are sent off to fight in an arena to entertain the Emperor and spectators. It has become his personal matter to try and make the last wishes of these men come true. But when a silent warrior refuses to ask for any wishes Makoto finds himself longing for this man who slowly becomes a legend
1. Introduction

_Warning: NSFW; erotic/smut content ahead. You have been warned._

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><p><strong>Introduction <strong>

_"May your spirit find peace with the Lord." Makoto Tachibana chanted with a gentle voice. He dipped his fingers inside a bowl filled with a harmless liquid used for purification. He stood above a prisoner whose eyes were close and whose face was facing the sky. Although, the "sky" was nothing more than a grungy, worn-out ceiling that threatened to crack anytime soon. But it would do. _

_The man couldn't have been older than mid-thirties. And yet his hair already had one or two silver hairs growing out of his head. Makoto traced the outline of the man's face, his subtle features dimmed by the little lighting in the room. His face was dark and sullen just like this cell. Cheeks gaunt and deprived of color. Lips chapped with its corners curved downward. Wrinkles and scars were like an ornament to his face, but an ornament that no one would call beautiful in the least. More powerful than those features, however, were his eyelids. They drooped like the muscles in his face. Makoto knew that the eyes behind them were dull, lost of all resolve. He knew that once he opened them after the Blessing Rite, that his eyes would have no shine in them. They would be as clear as that of a doll's. Even so, Makoto continued with the ritual. It was a requirement he had to fulfill. _

_He _wanted _to fulfill it._

_"Reunite with your fallen family which stands beside Him." His finger ran over his nose and then his cheekbone. As he touched the man's face, he noticed something interesting, but not uncommon. His eyelids began to twitch, as if his touch stirred something in him. _

_"Be cured of all fatigue, disease and impurities." At some point, he realized what his touch was doing to this man. The more his smooth finger ran over his dry skin, the more he seemed to react to his touch. Makoto knew what he was probably thinking. He was probably thinking that his touch reminded him of a woman's caress. They all felt something like that. He ran his finger down his chin, past his Adam's apple. This was also part of the Blessing Rite. His finger travelled onto his collarbone and then fell toward his heart. Makoto made a circling motion with his finger, which wa__s meant to trace his heart, where according to his knowledge, is where the soul is._

"_Pray your tainted soul be spared from your sins." He didn't meant to, but his finger was so sensual against the man's skin, he could tell by his reaction. He began to repeat the Rite in order to conclude it, but the more he moved his finger, the more the man seemed to melt under his touch. His eyelids were twitching, threatening to flutter open and his tired muscles seemed to be reacting more and more. His breathing seemed a tad uneven. When he traced the side of his cheek, the man suddenly grabbed his hand and held it in place. He opened his eyes, longing and pleasure residing in them. _

_"May your spirit live on and seek salvation by His side." The Rite was incomplete. But Makoto didn't move his hand, and the man wouldn't allow him to move either. His fingers held his hand on his rough cheek, lightly feeling the skin, the joints, the nails of every finger. Everything about the way he felt his fingers was impure, the complete opposite of the Rite's prayer. The man brought his palm closer to his lips and kissed it the way he would kiss a woman's hand. Makoto did nothing but smile sadly. _

_Fortunately, the man was too focused on his hand to even notice. _

_Makoto promptly removed his hand from the man's face and looked at some point on the grungy wall. Not looking at the man, who now seemed to be conscious of his actions, Makoto heard a loud knock against the metallic door. A guard called out, "fifteen minutes before the battle starts." _

_"Understood," Makoto replied politely. _

_Listening as the guard walked away, Makoto suddenly sat next to the prisoner and began to pack away the items he had brought with him. A jar with holy water. The Book of Truth. Holy items that priests had to bring before beginning the Blessing Rite. Beside those items was a makeup kit, which mainly consisted cosmetics. A pack of vials with a red liquid to color the lips. A pink powder meant to create rosy cheeks. And a strange white powder that was imported from an exotic land. They were only used for cosmetic purposes and were particularly stylish in the region they came from. Although, these cosmetics were only intended for women to use, otherwise it would have been very emasculating for men. And here it was, sitting next to Makoto ready to be applied on this man's face. So much for fulfilling the Emperor's sadistic wishes. _

_But..._

_"There are only fifteen minutes left," Makoto said, bringing out the vials, the brushes and the small containers, "after you leave this cell, you realize that your chances of returning...are very small, don't you?" He set the makeup on a stool beside the man, who sat on an abandoned wooden stump that belonged in that cell. If only other prisoners had such a piece of luxury. _

_The man wasn't fazed about those news. But Makoto noticed a slightly red shade on his cheeks. He seemed slightly feverish. The man laughed and said, "isn't that why you do the Blessing Rite?"_

_Makoto smiled. "You're right." As he prepared the kit, he said, "I know it is a bit too late in the game for this, but if there is any wish you have, I will be happy to fulfill it for you." _

_"What?" The man looked at him quizzically. "Is this part of your job?"_

_"My job is to serve Him, " Makoto replied, "...but it is my personal endeavor to help those that need it, if I can." Makoto looked at the man, and he knew he couldn't resist his green eyes because the man averted his gaze. They all reacted like that._

_"There are only a few minutes left," the man said, "can I confess before I die?"_

_Makoto smiled gently and stated, "Yes, of cour...mn!" Makoto's eyes widened when the man seized him by the arms and pulled him toward his body. The man then planted a rough, barely wet kiss on Makoto's lips. He should've seen that coming. _

_He should've seen it coming! The man's feverish temperature seemed to seep onto Makoto's body as well, because he began to immerse himself in the now, wet kiss that came from his own mouth. Their tongues intertwined wildly and savagely, Makoto's instincts plagued by desire to feel the other's tongue, while the man was plagued by the need of satisfying his own thirst. He sucked violently at Makoto's tongue and lips, savoring every drop and dribble that came from his mouth as if he were drinking water for the first time in years. Unfortunately for him, his heated impulse was already making them sweat. Unable to stand it, the man pulled his lips from Makoto's mouth and began to lick the sweat that had already begun to drip down Makoto's neck. _

_"Hn..." A quiet sigh escaped from Makoto's throat at the sweet feeling of the membrane against his sensitive skin. He wanted to talk but he couldn't find his voice. It wasn't until the man began to feel for his shoulders and pull down his white robe that Makoto found himself and pushed him away. _

_"I'm sorry!" The man hurriedly said, his voice panicked, "the truth is...your eyes remind me of someone I loved. The way you carry yourself...you're beautiful. Like a woman! I know this will sound insane but from the moment I saw you, I fell in love! Even though you're a man, and a priest at that, I couldn't help but feel this way for you! And I had to tell you before I died!" _

_Makoto said nothing. 'Like a woman...' He had said. Makoto smiled at the man, his hands still gripping tight at the muscles beneath his robe. Makoto knew exactly what he wanted. He grabbed the man's hand and placed it on his own cheek, sensually guiding it over his own smooth skin, as if tempting the man even more. Eventually the hand came to rest on his cheek and Makoto said, "your time is running out, and you only have one wish. What will you do?" His fingers lightly felt at the protruding tendons on the back of his hands. _

_The man was more than aroused. He wanted him. He didn't need to say something that was so obvious to anyone. Makoto knew this best. He knew he wanted to hold a woman before dying. Or at least something that resembled a woman. But there was no way he could do it in ten minutes. Makoto said, "there isn't enough time. But...I can help you feel good." _

_He suddenly kneeled in front of the man, who seemed confused by his behavior and caught on quickly. As Makoto placed his hands on the fly of his trousers, the man began to object. "W-wait!" He cried in a panicked voice, "but you're a priest! And a man! Don't you find this repulsive?"_

_Makoto knew he couldn't help it. His desire for a woman had manifested in him and thus he saw him this way for now. He had no right to judge him or the many men he had done this with. But in this feverish state between them, he was sure that the notion didn't even cross his mind. Makoto unbuttoned the fly of his trousers and spread the wings apart, not saying anything at first. The man's cock was already hard under the fabric. As Makoto touched the prisoners private area, the man flinched at his touch, both from the augmenting pleasure that his touch caused but also from the disgust he must have felt toward himself._

_Makoto sighed and finally replied to his question. "Today," he began, "there are no boundaries. You are you and I am myself. Don't worry about anything else and don't hold back." He wondered who he was trying to placate, the man or himself? _

_To directly answer his question, Makoto said, "you're not repulsive. It is only natural." That was a lie. The teachings he had learned said the exact opposite. _

_It was a man's duty to hold back against forbidden temptations. Otherwise he wasn't a real man. This of course also went for women, who had much stricter duties. And he, who was a Priest, should've been able to do this with ease. So many years of training...and here he was, about to suck off yet another man. Yet another prisoner who saw him as a woman or some maternal figure. He didn't mind the notion, in fact it made him happy to know there were still redeemable qualities that he could give to the world without feeling guilty. Although most of his soul was tainted with sin that he knew that not even those "redeemable qualities" could save him from hell. _

_He was walking closer toward his doom as he grabbed the man's penis and took it out of his trousers. The man flinched momentarily as the priest wrapped his fingers around the hilt and began to move them slowly, up and down. The man had to hold himself upright so he wouldn't lose his balance. "Tch!" He groaned, "even though...I just got...purified." _

_Makoto felt a little bad. He was already tainting his soul which he had just purified. But then again, Makoto often wondered if he even had that power anymore. Since he himself was sick in the head. His soul was just as impure as his. Perhaps even more so. _

_It didn't take long, but the man's cock was hard, a clear liquid already pooling at the tip of the sprung up organ. The man yelped as Makoto touched him, he covered his face with his arm, hiding the panicked look in his face. It seemed Makoto's words had not gotten through to him. It was a bit strange to him, since the man had just kissed him moments ago and might've even fucked him had Makoto not stopped them. Makoto smiled lovingly and said in a reassuring tone, "if it's too hard for you to bear, then close your eyes. But I know this is your wish. This is what you want, isn't it?" _

_"Tsk..." The man replied, as if Makoto had seen right through him. But the evidence was clear to Makoto, it stood straight in front of his face, ready to release its lust. He didn't need to try to guess. "I just...want to know...something...hn!" _

_Makoto was still rubbing the man's lust as he answered, "yes, anything." His green eyes flashed with a hint of curiosity and concern. After all, he truly cared for people. _

_"I told you that...ngh...that I love you," the man managed to gasp, " ...do you...love me too?" His face twisted In a grimace as he tried to get the words out while keeping his voice calm. _

_At that, Makoto slowed the rubbing to a stop, making the man look at him in concern. Makoto didn't answer at first. He knew that if he answered, he would become even more impure, so it was best to remain quiet. But in the end, was that really the best choice? Could he really become more impure than he already was? Was there a point where his soul would become so black that it was beyond repair and salvation? He figured that it was. And bringing his own feelings into this moment would not make it easier for the prisoner. His death was a mere minutes away. He could at least do him this last favor... _

_Gripping the man's cock again, Makoto replied, "...yes, I do."_

_That, of course, was a lie._

_But maybe he was a good liar. Perhaps his face was very charismatic and flawless. Or maybe the man was too naive (which seemed like an odd suggestion since it was rare to have naive prisoners, especially those who were older like this man). The man's face lightened at his words and the color in his face returned. "Thank you." Those were the last words he said before he allowed his body to relax at Makoto's mercy. He closed his eyes and, for the first time since he came here, seemed to be in absolute peace._

_But the same could not be said for Makoto. He lied again. He was only stepping closer to his grave embellished with his sins. But he couldn't stop now. He positioned himself better, the man's erect organ still on hand, and brough his face closer to the man's swollen lust. _

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><p><em>"Times up!" The guard yelled outside the cell. So the time had come. <em>

_By the time the guard had opened the door, Makoto had cleaned his face. The man was calm next to him, the cosmetics applied perfectly on his face. His face was white and pink with the powder and his lips were dyed with the red liquid from the vial. He was ready to go. _

_The guard eyed them suspiciously, disliking the ambient in the cell. But he didn't pay mind to it. Instead he said to the prisoner, "the battle will be starting soon. Follow me and don't try anything stupid. We'll chop off of your arms and still send you to the Arena anyway." _

_The man walked past Makoto, looking at him from the corner of his eyes. He subtly brushed his hand against his. There was something in it. It was a folded paper. He was giving him something. So this...was his real wish, wasn't it? _

_Makoto took the paper and hid it in the folds of his robe. The man walked past the guard, who had turned away from the door. Without paying much regards to Makoto, the two disappeared from Makoto's line of sight. Makoto knew that out of the two, only one would return. And from those two, it would be the guard. _

_Sighing with melancholy, Makoto looked at the paper he had just received. It certainly wasn't a gift for him, he knew. He unfolded the paper and admired the contents in astonishment. It was a drawing made with charcoal. The charcoal had smeared over the page, but the image remained beautiful. The image was that of a woman. A woman with long, waving hair, a serene face and a luscious body that any men would desire. Her hips were the same width as her full breasts and her waist was slim. Everything about her seemed nurturing. Any man would've claimed her for the most perverse and wrong reasons. But Makoto could see all the love poured into this drawing. This man had truly loved her, hadn't he? Makoto had never loved the man, but he knew that regardless of what he had said about him, his feelings only belonged to this woman. _

_What a shame that they would never see each other again. _

_Makoto gingerly folded the paper and hid it carefully. He picked up the vials and covered them with their respective lids. He sighed at the cruelty of this world. In this world—in this era—things worked in a certain way. It had for ages now. The system that existed now favored only those who followed its unjust principles and violently abolished those who opposed it. The Heretics. Because the resistance was prominent and had been out of control all this time, the system had devised a way to find Heretics before they even knew they were Heretics. The military was in charge of finding those who went in hiding. _

_Consequently, prisons filled up very quickly and thus the government had to find a way to deal with the problem. There had been a couple of solutions, like enslaving the Heretics. Public executions. Human trade. Sacrifices of children and infants. It was a dark era and still none of those solutions were enough to reduce the resistance._

_Except for one._

_Ironically, the Head Pope had suggested to the former Emperor one of the most brutal and inhumane ideas that remained to this day. All male Heretics—which were more prominent in the resistance than women or children—would be imprisoned in special cells hidden beneath large arenas and would battle to the death as a form of entertainment for the general public. It would serve as a way to reduce—or at least control—the resistance by getting rid of the stronger figures of the resistance. The men. It would also serve as a way to get public approval and bring down the resistance any way possible. _

_And it worked. _

_Since the system had remained intact for many years now, there had not been a single offense from the resistance. Sometimes Makoto wondered how long it would take for the resistance to die out, since that seemed to be the case. _

_Initially, Makoto did not understand why the Head Pope had suggested such a gruesome idea. It went against the essential teachings of the Religion. But later, everything made sense. The Religion had not been very popular back in those days, it was still growing in the Empire. It made sense that the Head Pope—who had earned that title with his ingenious idea—wanted to spread word of the Religion and had to gain the Emperor's favor in some way. And so he did. With his idea, the Religion was practically the official religion of the Empire. Almost everyone practiced it. It had been fused perfectly with the system, however, it's principles tainted by the unfairness created by the system. And in this manner, the Religion was a method to select the Heretics before they could flourish. _

_On an even lesser moral aspect, Makoto knew—like any priest alive in the Empire—that the Head Pope simply wanted riches and status. It was that simple. More than the principles, or the morals, or the sake of serving Him, the Pope wanted prestige. Men were forced to die on an almost daily basis because the Pope wanted to dress in expensive robes and jewelry. _

_But it wasn't like Makoto ever met the previous Head Pope—he had died ages ago. Albeit the new Head Pope seemed to be the same way, and didn't seem like he was going to revolutionize this travesty any time soon. _

_But at least Makoto had a profession. _

_He had trained and learned the Religion. It was his life, his essence. He had dedicated his life to the Religion since he was a prepubescent boy, thus he never forgot his own beginnings. No matter how much the system had twisted the Religion, Makoto still believed in its core principles. He believed in salvation. Forgiveness. Integrity. _

_He believed in making people feel happy in their last moments. _

_At least that was how he felt five years ago. Five years ago, he had been a different man, determined to make these prisoners wishes come true. But he only tainted his body and soul in the process, and now he could not even recognize the person he was now. All he could keep holding on was his resolve to make the wishes come true until the very end. _

_And still, he could only wonder what remained of the boy he had been a few years ago? Was he still around or was he unable to go back to the person he used to be? _

_Not bothering to think more about such nostalgic memories, Makoto grabbed his kit. He walked out of the cell and heard an explosion of shouts and hollers from the excited crowd. _

_The battle had begun._

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><p><strong>Authors note: <strong>Hello :) so I have a lot to explain for this fic. For starters, I want to emphasize that this fic features SosukexMakoto. I'm a huge Somako supporter and I haven't seen many fics about them, so I made my own.

This fic is inspired by the Roman Empire age—with a ton of historical fallacies xD—I apologize in advance if there are any fallacies in this fanfic. naturally when I say "battles" I mean to say that the men battle gladiator style. Still, not everything I write in this fic is meant to be accurate because I'd rather just get to the story that worry about all those details.

I also wanted to mention that this fic is not for everyone. Even if you're aware that this is a rated M fanfic, there are a lot of string themes like death, rape, sexuality, religion, gay sex (which I think most of you dont mind since you're reading this fic ;D) and things like that. I will also try my best to be impartial and vague about religion because I don't anyone to think I'm bashing their religion. This fic in general was not made with that intention. So If this introduction bothered you, then maybe you shouldn't read xD

And finally, this story is very angsty (but there's also lots of fluff x) ). More angsty than "One Yesterday" (my other fic). so you have been warned of pretty much everything. Still I put a lot of effort on the planning for this fanfic and I really hope you like it! I have no intention of dropping my other works, but at least this one's official now. Enjoy!


	2. Insolence

**Chapter 1: Insolence**

Makoto distanced himself from the sight which stood miles away from the window. He averted his gaze away from the Arena which only stood there menacingly, calling him. Taunting him in every way possible. Makoto moved along the long hallway, every window portraying a slightly different angle of the arena as if it were a painting of the same subject, but with a different angle. It seemed that no matter where he went, it was always there. Every time he saw it, he saw the prisoners. He heard screams and hollers that were imprinted in his brain like colors. He wondered if the Emperor had specifically ordered the Arena to be built facing the Palace for the sole purpose of reminding Makoto of his demons and the hell he had to put with in a daily basis in that place.

But not for now. Makoto suddenly stopped and forced himself to look at that wretched place. He could see it, the people of the lowest class surrounding it, trying to get a peek of what went on inside. Their bloodlust heightening with every pained scream and ever excited holler from the spectators. "Tch…" He groaned almost painfully and broke the gaze away.

This was officially the sixth Monday Makoto had decidedly stopped going to see the battles. He wasn't trying to celebrate anything. This wasn't an anniversary. It was just another reminder that he had guts. He truly had galls to be absent in the events that ultimately required all the priests on duty to attend. It would be even worse for him, however, being one of the Major Priests. He wasn't living up to his responsibilities as one of the more reputable Priests.

Walking around the almost empty palace felt odd to him. He could almost hear the echoes of his sandals as he walked along the smooth marble floor. Compared to the rowdy mixed screams of horror and excitement, however, he preferred this dead silence much more. In fact, he welcomed it. He hadn't indulged himself in this soothing silence for so long now. This was music to his tortured ears. But that didn't stop the shadow of duty and responsibility from towering over him, constantly reminding him of his duties. He might've stopped attending to his duties six weeks ago, but that didn't mean that Makoto had enjoyed that "freedom" one bit. No. If anything, he felt even worse for failing to fulfill the one thing he should've been doing. But he couldn't find it in himself to go to that place anymore. He simply...couldn't.

The battles ensued for five days a week, depending on how many "volunteers" would participate and sometimes on the weather.

The Priests were divided for their duties and were assigned a particular day of the week, ranging from Monday through Friday, to bless their assigned prisoners before they were sent off to battle. Makoto had the Monday duties. But as a Major Priest, his duties weren't reserved for Mondays only. He had the obligation of being there everyday of the week, even on weekends if needed be.

Their duties as Priests consisted of praying and purifying the men's souls before sending them off to be killed. They were also trained doctors who tended to the prisoners wounds, since it would be a waste of space to keep someone who was dying from an infection. They also had to "beautify" them before that. Beautifying the prisoners was a simple process. It consisted of applying women's makeup over the men's faces before they were released into battle only if they were newcomers, the reason being that there was only a limited supply being exported from its home country. The more symbolic reason being that it was the Emperor's way of letting the Heretics know what and who they were up against.

The "Beautifying" process was a fairly new law. In the past, there had been no need to do such a thing, it was simply something that the new Emperor decided to implement. Most people were confused as to why he would go so far as to making up a law like that. It was irrational. Pointless. But it was in that moment that the Empire understood what kind of man the Emperor was. He was a man of brute force. Obstinate. Everyone knew that once he threatened something, he would do it until the very end. If he wrote down his thoughts in a journal and proclaimed that to be a new religion, then he would make it into a religion. No arguments were allowed.

Makoto sighed and wiped the sweat off his forehead. The heat of summer would only get worse from now on. He could only imagine the arduous feat the prisoners must've been enduring right at this moment. He walked on, trying to block out the sounds which he dreaded so much every time he stepped on that bloody arena. Every time he stood there and watched, his nerves would break little by little, he could only contain his agony until the very end, when the last grain of sand in the hourglass would hit the top of the sandy pile for good.

So far, no one had noticed his insolence. And he always made sure to find a way to distract the emperor if he ever came to notice his "strange" behavior. He wasn't proud of what he was doing. He didnt want to cause a revolution. He knew that the other priests, and even the priestesses who had to be there, probably had a hard time enduring it as much as he did. And still he couldn't stand this agony in his heart.

He was a coward.

Not paying much attention to where he was headed, Makoto realized that he stood in front of his room. Not knowing what else to do or worry about, he set foot inside and tried to think of something else. His room, like most of the Priests', was simple with a tinge of elegance, residing in the palace and all. There was a large bed positioned in the middle with a small table beside it. There was a small wardrobe where he kept his robes, albeit they were simple and white. He wore no other color. He also owned a small bookshelf which was mostly filled various volumes of the Book of Truth and a few fiction books he had found in a bazaar. His room was slightly more luxurious because of his status as a Major Priest. Most of the Priests' had to share a room. But he didn't have to because of his truth, Makoto wasn't quite fond of luxuries, but he ended up taking the room anyway, at the Emperor's insistence.

He stood in the middle of the lonesome room, wondering what he could be doing. Trying to think of something. Anything. But it wasn't that simple. Not when just outside his window, far in the horizon, he could see it. The Arena. That damned place that he had to be in every Monday was positioned right in front of his room too. If the Lord had sought some punishment for all the sins he had committed, then this was the perfect punishment. No matter how hard he tried, he could never get away from it could he? He was doomed to find himself staring into that horizon that reminded him of the closest thing to hell. Perhaps it was a sign.

He really was doomed for hell after all, wasn't he?

Sighing as if this was the first breath he ever took, Makoto sat on his bed, looking at the book resting on the small table. Makoto looked in its direction and grabbed the book, he opened it for the first time in a while and grabbed something. It was a piece of paper folded into a square. Makoto unfolded the piece of paper to reveal a now faded drawing of a beautiful woman. Originally, it had been drawn with a piece of charcoal, which smeared very easily. Now the drawing was worn to the point it was light and faded, and still its beauty remained there. The woman was still clearly there in all her glory and grace. She truly was beautiful.

Makoto sighed once more, leaning on the bed. He wasn't sure why he had kept the picture. All he knew was that he didn't find it in himself to throw away such a piece of emotion. Perhaps he was reminding himself why he stopped doing his duties to begin with.

Six mondays ago, he had watched the battles and could do nothing but close his eyes as the man who had given him that drawing (that man who had claimed to be in love with him) be one of the first to fall. With just one slash from another man's sword, that man had fallen and stopped breathing right before his eyes.

Exactly one week and a day after the battle, Makoto attempted to deliver the drawing himself to the woman. There was the name of a town that was only a ways away outside of the Capital. He wanted to deliver it and see the expression of this woman as she received the last memento her lover had left for her.

He had travelled by himself just for this purpose. He had taken a huge risk for this endeavor. To this day he wasn't sure why he even bothered to trek to that town, even if the journey per se was not particularly treacherous.

But when he had gotten there….

"Excuse me," He had said to a working villager.

The villager was an elderly man working his land with a rake as old as his bony hands. When he looked at him, his eyes widened and he dropped everything. He almost ran up to him had his legs not have been worn out after years of hard labor. He greeted him with the utmost respect, being a priest and all, and treated him with reverence.

"I am looking for this woman, I have something to deliver to her from her lover. Have you seen her?" Makoto asked in anticipation. He could almost feel his heart race when he saw a hint of recognition in the man's eyes. But almost too soon—in a split second—the glint of recognition in the elderly man's eyes disappeared. No. That wasn't right. They had simply become dark with melancholy.

When Makoto asked him what was wrong, the man answered, "I'm afraid to say that you will not find this woman here. Or anywhere for that matter."

"Huh?" Makoto asked, not liking the turn this conversation took.

"Well, she's no longer with us. This is unfortunate but...she took her own life."

Makoto froze. That was one of the worst taboos that could be broken in the Religion. Suicide. Suicide meant that your soul could reach neither heaven or hell. Her soul was doomed forever.

"But why would she? When did this happen?" Makoto thought out loud.

"Oh, she had a rough life," the old man said with a tone of regret and sympathy, "And she had to endure it all by herself. The poor young one. If only you would've come sooner..."

"What do you mean?" Makoto asked curiously.

"I don't want to place blame or burden on you, my lord, but perhaps if you would've shown her this drawing, she would've found the strength to keep on living, knowing that in his last moments, her husband had thought of her. You said this was from her lover?"

"Yes, he was a man in his mid-thirties, possibly. He had dark hair and Amber eyes."

"So it was him after all, eh? What a shame. I am not surprised. They really were happy together..."

"I want to know, how long has it been since she...passed away?" Makoto asked curiously, regretting it once he heard the man's answer.

"Well, it was exactly one week that she took her life."

Makoto allowed that sink in. And once it did, his heart went still from the shock. _Exactly one week_, the man had said. Exactly one week. Exactly one day after the man had died, she...

He couldn't even bring himself to think it. He held the paper in his hand and saw that his hand was shaking a little bit. Thanking the man, he promptly mounted his horse and headed back with a heavy heart. A heart filled with so much regret and disappointment that he couldn't stand it. In the end, he had failed hadn't he? He didn't deliver the paper in the time. He failed at fulfilling that man's last wish. It was so unfair. Makoto couldn't stand this system anymore. This sick, disgusting system that separated families, friends and lovers. These two shouldn't have died the way they died. They didn't deserve it. Fully recognizing this for the first time in a long time, Makoto found himself feeling sick to his stomach. His whole body trembled and he tried to reject the thoughts that plagued his mind. But he couldn't, not when he was much too aware that men were forced to give up not just their lives, but the memories and their relationships because they could not live up to the system's expectations. Because the Emperor came before anyone else. It was truly unfair.

By the time he had reached the palace, there were tears running down his cheeks, which he promptly removed with the sleeve of his robe. Since then, he had stopped attending to his duties at the Arena.

Making wishes come true was truly painful, wasn't it?

Bringing himself out of his recollection, Makoto had not realized that he had left the door open. He only realized it when a familiar voice called his name. "Makoto-senpai," it was the voice of a young priest in-training.

Makoto hurriedly folded the abandoned work of art inside the book once more and looked at Aichirou Nitori, who held a large bowl with warm water. Makoto looked at the small-framed boy who had beautiful silver hair and crystal blue eyes. Still, he didn't understand who would need warm water in this unbearable heat.

"Makoto-senpai?" Aichirou said with a hint of confusion in his voice, "you're here?! Don't you have today's duties in the Arena?" He was worried. Anyone would've been worried, since it was a big deal. Not attending to one's duties was like an offense to the Emperor. He would be in immense trouble for his insolent behavior. But Makoto couldn't bring himself to do anymore than bless the prisoners and immediately run away from that wretched place.

"I do," Makoto said, rising from the bed, "I did more than half of my duties today. But I wasn't feeling well...the heat has really been getting to me these days." What a horrible excuse. So many of his fellow friends were in the same position as he was. Doing these horrible duties. Standing under the scorching sun. Watching the men fight until they were nothing but pulp. He was keenly aware of this. So what made him so special that he didn't have to fulfill his duties just because of the weather?

Self-hatred engulfed Makoto's being, and he couldn't find it in himself to say anymore.

But Aichirou didn't seem to sense this. Instead, the naivete replied, "Is that so? Then, do you need anything, Makoto-senpai?! Maybe some water? Or ice? I can try to fetch whatever you need!"

Despite his lack of self awareness, Makoto couldn't help but feel at ease with him and his nurturing personality. He smiled gently and shook his head, "That won't be necessary, thank you."

Aichirou returned his smile with an unsure one of his own. He turned his body away from the door and said, "Okay, please don't push yourself, senpai!"

"Don't worry about me, I won't do anything tiresome," Makoto replied, casually waving him off as to show that he was fine.

As Aichirou walked along, Makoto's smile soon evaporated and he was back to his lonesome mood. He stood alone in his room, his body uncomfortable with the sweltering heat. He looked outside the window for once and stared at the Arena that stood lonely just like him. He knew that at this point, the games were probably over, or close to being finished. As he stared intently at the building, blurred out by the heat, his eyes followed something that caught his interest. There were hordes of people heading toward the Arena. Makoto knew this wasn't an uncommon commotion. In fact, it was a very normal thing. But it intrigued him because it had been a while since they had caught a horde with this many men.

These weren't normal people who wanted to see the games. These people were rounded up to be imprisoned and used as pawns. They would be sent to be killed in the Arena. Makoto could only watch as the people surrounding the Arena were causing a commotion. He saw ant-like people move away from the arena and run up to the hordes of prisoners. They were probably shouting at them, throwing rocks and sticks or anything that could be thrown.

Seeing this Makoto realized that he would be assigned new prisoners. He had to be there whether he like it or not. Today was going to be a difficult day, since he would step into that Arena for the first time in weeks. He would have to tend to the wounded and assist with the distribution of the new prisoners, which there were a whole lot of. He would have to do all this for the rest of the day.

Making haste, Makoto ran out of his room. He exited the palace and mounted his horse, soon in his way to the Arena, the place he hated the most.

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><p><strong>AN edit: **I know it has been a long time since I last updated this fic. I was looking over recently and I realized that this chapter is so damn long. I've decided to cut it in chunks. I like to write a lot but even I hate having to read loooong chapters. This one by itself is over 10,000 words D: So yeah...I'm going to split this in chunks and I'll keep working on it :) for those of you who have already read it, i'm sorry but this isn't an update yet :(


	3. Prisoner

**A/N: **In case you didn't read my recent edit, this is not an update. I decided to divide the first chapter into more chapters because I felt that it was too long. I'm sorry if that's disappointing :( I am working on the next update.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Prisoner <strong>

When Makoto stepped inside the underground prisons, the mixed sounds of pained moans, rustling feet and men screaming uncontrollably made Makoto feel confused. He saw a little bit of everything. Priests running with bowls of water and moistened cloth to tend to the wounded. Guards rounding up the prisoners, some which were compliant but most were rowdy and defiant. The guards took care of the insolence by beating them up with the bottom of their spears. It looked painful. When Makoto glanced at his feet, he saw that the floor was dyed with fresh stains of blood which overlapped the brown puddles of blood which were already dry and cracked.

Despite all the chaos happening at this very moment, his mind felt completely disconnected from the present world. Still he headed for a particular room, a room where all the priests were assigned prisoners to deal with before they were sent off to battle. It was their responsibility to meet these men before the end of the day as well as treat the survivors' wounds. Today he was greeted by hell itself.

When he entered the room, most of the Priests were already rounded up. There were about twenty inside the room. These were all Priests in-training. As he walked down the aisle, he noticed the series of eyes who stared at him in astonishment. After all, they had not seen him for a month and a half now. Still, Makoto tried not to notice and walked toward the end of the room, acting as if he had always been there. Fulfilling his duties naturally as he had always done.

When everything had been assorted. He helped distribute the lists to the Priests in-training who unquestioningly set off to do whatever they had to do right away.

Makoto was greeted by a young priestess who would've probably pinched his nose had the other priests not been there. But she didn't. Instead, she hissed at him quietly, "Makoto-senpai! You might be good at hiding, but you can't fool me! You weren't here today either, weren't you?!"

Makoto brushed it off with a chuckle. "Tch," he replied, "I'm here now. I just wasn't here the entire time…."

"That's not the point!" Gou, the priestess, retorted, "Makoto-senpai, you can't keep doing this! You're setting a bad example for being one of the Major Priests!"

Makoto could only laugh. He said jokingly, "Oh, I should probably join the prisoners, shouldn't I?"

Gou sighed, her tone serious. "Makoto-senpai," she pouted with a tone of worry in her voice, "It's been hard on you, hasn't it? I've noticed that you've been gone for so long. I don't mean to reprimand you. It's just that I'm worried. We're all worried about you…!"

She looked at her feet as she said this. Makoto placed his hand on her head and brushed it. "I'm fine," He said reassuringly, the girl's red eyes focused on his face, not looking placated in the least. But he didn't want to worry her any further. He changed the topic and asked, "Who have you been assigned, Gou-chan?"

Gou looked at a rolled paper she held in her hands. Unfolding it, she read, "There's fifteen I'm in charge of...hm...most don't even have last names...oh wait, this one does! Seijuro Mikoshiba..."

"Fifteen?" Makoto said surprised, "That's more than usual for you."

"Oh, I'll be fine! I can handle these guys just like Chigusa!" She replied confidently.

"She was almost attacked once, however," Makoto remarked, "You should be careful, nonetheless. Or cry out for me if you need it." Priestesses were not commonly allowed here in the underground prisons. There were constant reports of assaults which was a big deal for the Priests. After all, a Priest's chastity was what made them worthy of serving Him. Otherwise they were a disgrace to the Religion and had no choice but to abandon their role as a Priest.

Makoto was only fortunate that he still had his position.

There were only two Priestesses who were allowed down here because they had proven they can handle the ambient and they had to be escorted by a guard at all times (Not that Makoto trusted the guards to be any controlled). Gou was one of them. She was one tough woman. Very organized and active. She never missed any details. She was quite a valuable asset in this room full of men. The red-headed Priestess smiled at Makoto and returned the question, "How many did you get, Makoto-senpai?"

Makoto looked at his own list, understandably unfamiliar with the names written on the paper. On the far right side of the paper was the cell number where they resided in. Like Gou's list, there were a lot of people who didn't have their last names. Seems there was no time to be meticulous toward men who were going to die soon. "Thirty-three," Makoto replied unfazed. He read the names off the list.

...

Keiichi Maebara.

_Yukihito._

_Tetsuo Shironuma._

_Ren._

_Tomoya._

_Akira._

_Shiki._

_Kouhei._

_Aomine._

_? ? ? ?_

Makoto's eyes focused on a particular name. If it could be called a name. His face twisted into a confused grimace. This had never happened before in his years working in the Underground Prison.

At the bottom of the list were a series of question marks. But...why question marks? Was it some sort of mistake? Perhaps this man was on the verge of dying (maybe even an elderly man?) that he couldn't even mutter his name? That was a possibility that hardly made sense. Why would they bring back a man that is on the verge of death? So he could be blessed in his final moments? No. That wasn't it, Makoto assumed. No matter how many devout believers of the Religion existed in the Empire, the guards were typically not the kind of men who believed in it, or basic morals for that matter. Especially toward the Heretics.

Confused, Makoto couldn't decide what had happened. He figured asking someone once he was done with the rest of his duties. Brushing it off as a simple mistake, Makoto exited the room, readying himself for the hell to come.

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><p>It had taken nearly the rest of the day to meet each of them. There was so much confusion going on with the wounded survivors and the prisoners who were being distributed in their cells. Everything was a bedlam of hostility and blood, since the newcomers themselves were not in any better shape than the survivors.<p>

At last, he was done with all but one thing. He had yet to meet the last prisoner in his list whose name was a bunch of question marks. As Makoto was escorted by the guard to the covert cell in the depths of the prison, he noticed something.

It must've been evening outside, since the underground prison grew much quieter compared to a couple of hours earlier. Most of the Priests had finished their duties early and had already left. Gou had announced her leave hours before, since she only had a couple of prisoners to deal with. Most of the Priests in-training had a minimum of twenty prisoners to deal with. Being one of the Major Priests, Makoto had an even higher number than the rest. Thirty-three. That was the minimum for him. The highest number he ever had was fifty-six.

Finally, they stopped in front of a cell. Makoto noticed that it was more isolated than the rest. Makoto looked at the guard, "Your services won't be necessary anymore. I can handle the rest."

The guard looked at him with a look of uncertainty. He warned him, "I don't know, my lord. Heard he's a rowdy one. He's pretty strong. Some of the other guards told me at least three guards had to hold him down throughout the journey, and even getting him in there was a living hell."

So it wasn't an elderly man after all, huh? At that moment, Makoto remembered something. "Oh, I noticed that there must be a mistake on this list," Makoto began, "his name is listed in a series of question marks, why is that?"

"We tried," The guard said, "But he refuses to talk. We tried to beat it out of him but he won't budge. We decided we don't have time for this so we just left it alone. Maybe you'll get something out of him. Not that it matters since he's gonna be a goner in about a week anyway." The guard laughed. He lightly bowed before leaving Makoto alone in front of the cell. Makoto took out the keys to the cells and opened the door. Being a Major Priest had its perks.

Makoto slowly opened the door, expecting a wild, savage beast to jump him in the darkness.

However, there was nothing but an eerie silence. Makoto could sense it. there was a human presence inside this cell, there was somebody in here. But the darkness and the eerie silence made him wonder if it really _was _human. Peeking inside the cell, he saw a dim figure beneath the shadows, crouching his head between his knees as if he were slumbering. As if he were a bear hibernating in the fall. Makoto could hardly tell if he was sleeping or not, but one fact remained true. This was a man, not a monster or an animal. And still, the foreign aura that came from him made him much more intimidating than any other prisoner he had ever faced.

Makoto held his candle closer to the man, who didn't move in the least. Was he asleep after all? Makoto had to assume he was, since most people would react to the sound of a door opening or the dim light that came from the candle. He kneeled next to the man, keeping his candle close to him, and observed.

His face was still hidden between his knees, but the guard had been right. His musculature did not betray his description. The calves of his muscles were voluminous and hard, he could've crushed a man's head if he repeatedly stomped on it. The muscles of his arms flexed as he wrapped his arms around his knees. His shoulders were clearly broad and prominent, his biceps and triceps no less prominent. Everything about this man's body was prominent, even the large scars that ornamented his body. His wrists were bound by chains, and Makoto could see the redness beneath the iron. Clearly he had been pulling them harshly. There were various scars and a series of bruises on his arms, especially on his forearms. His legs didn't have as many, but looking closely at his feet, they were completely scarred and seemed more worn-out than any other part of his body. His fingers were the same. One of his pinkies was slightly bent, although it didn't seem to look painful. Makoto could only assume he had broken it a long time ago and now it was shaped this way.

Aside from his body, Makoto looked at the man's dark hair. To his surprise, it was fairly short compared to the other prisoners'. He looked behind his neck and saw that his hair was partially shaved off from the back of his neck. Although it was starting to grow out a little.

Makoto positioned himself to face the man, who still wasn't reacting to his presence, even though he was so close. Not minding it at all, Makoto took out his medical equipment and prepared to heal his fresh wounds. As he worked with the equipment, he heard a rustling noise beside him. Perhaps he was used to the silence at this point that he found the noise so threatening. The guard's warning echoed through his mind.

When he craned his neck to look beside him, he found himself staring at...an ocean. But not just the surface of the ocean. It was the _depths _of the ocean, where everything was blue and green and where the most exotic sea animals resided in. His eyes were a pure teal. Compared to the dull colors of his body and hair, his eyes almost seemed to resonate against his image and the darkness. It made no sense at all, but that was the best way Makoto could describe how he felt looking into that pair of intimidating eyes.

He was at a loss for words. He wasn't sure what to expect.

But he didn't have to wait long to find out, because the harmless teal eyes that stared right into his own did something he should've expected. The muscles above them twisted into a frown and Makoto knew these eyes were dangerous. His instinct told him to step away as fast as he could. Before Makoto could think about it, his body reacted on his own and he moved away as the other man nearly jumped him like a savage animal, just as Makoto had expected in the beginning. He had let his guard down.

Makoto arose and so did the prisoner. He was shocked to see that this wasn't a thirty year-old man like he usually got. This man was young, probably as young as he was, maybe younger. He had not seen his face earlier but now that he was standing, Makoto was finally conscious of what he was up against. The man had a very similar build to his, albeit more muscular. He was as tall as he was, possibly taller. Now that he was standing, looking at him with such a dangerous grimace, his muscular build seemed to stand out more and that made him appear even more dangerous. And seeing his stoic face, Makoto could not see any hint of weariness.

It was then he realized that this man wasn't asleep the entire time. He had been sitting there, watching. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike, just like a predator. Everything about him was like a giant red flag. Not many red flags; his entire being was a red flag that warned any sane person to stay away. But this was Makoto's profession, and this wasn't the first time he had encountered hostile prisoners like him. He faced them every day, in and out of the underground prison. He couldn't get anywhere by being intimidated by this special case.

And still, his voice shook as he build up the courage to speak to him. "Y-you," Makoto began awkwardly, "You don't have to be afraid of me! I'm not going to hurt you. I'm a Priest and I'm here to treat your wounds."

The man didn't flinch, nor did he lower his guard. If anything, his cold aura became colder and his eyes narrowed, almost seeming to speak for him. They mocked Makoto's words and if he had spoken, Makoto thought he would've said something like, _I'm not afraid of you_.

Realizing this made Makoto feel stupid for even saying that. Clearly this man wasn't remotely afraid of him. He would've probably killed him given the opportunity. Now he understood why he had been put in this isolated cell. Makoto tried to ease the tension between them and stepped closer to the man, who refused to speak at all. He knew it wouldn't be this easy. So he decided to be the one who did the talking, "Please at least let me treat your wounds, you're bleeding a lot." But the more he tried to approach him, the more the man resisted.

Bound by the chains, he had no choice but to move outrageously, kicking at the air, tugging at the chains as if brute force alone would somehow break them. The more he moved, the more he got hurt, Makoto could see it. The bruises from when he had beat up were forming around his stomach. His face was also not spared although there didn't seem to be serious injuries there. The man bumped harshly against the wall, resuming his battle between him and the iron chains that clearly were the victor. The impact looked painful.

There were various cuts all over his body. Even if they weren't deep, the blood still oozed out of them. But with the way things were going, Makoto could hardly approach him. "Stop!" He begged, "Please, let me help you…"

But before he could continue, the man stopped moving and looked at him instead, his arms still tugging at the chains. When he looked at him, Makoto felt his knees wobble with a powerful emotion. Fear. This man looked at him with so much hatred, with so much disdain, as if he couldn't stand the mere sight of him. And sensing all these emotions out of him, Makoto felt...small. He couldn't stand that look in his face, as if he could see right through his soul. He didn't understand why he hated him so much.

It made sense that he distrusted him since he was living under the safety of the Emperor; that in its own way made him an enemy. Yet Makoto wanted nothing more than to help out this man, regardless of whose side they were on. But the other didn't seem to feel the same way. They were seeing things from a completely different perspective.

Assuming wouldn't get him anywhere, however. Makoto needed to hear this man out and see what he had to say for himself.

Despite the intimidating demeanor of the other, Makoto ventured to talk to him again, "I know you must be confused and angry, but I...I can make it better! I can heal your wounds. I can hear you out, there is nothing to be afraid of, I promise. Won't you at least tell me your name?"

The man had stopped fighting, but his grimace did not relax once. He simply glared at him with the same hateful eyes.

"..." He only got a huff of breath of him. He didn't look weary, but now Makoto could see he was exhausted. He simply stared at Makoto, studying him, perhaps hating him. Makoto didn't understand him. What was going through his mind?

"Makoto-san!" Makoto heard a muffled voice behind him. It was the guard. The guard broke into the cell and looked at the two men. He didn't hesitate to smack the prisoner's jaw with the back of his metal spear. The impact sent him flying against the wall and to the ground. The prisoner writhed uncomfortably, trying to hold back a cry and tears which threatened to spill. He merely frowned and grounded his molars.

Makoto looked at the man pitifully, that would leave a mark for sure. "Oi, that wasn't necessary!" Makoto reprimanded the guard, "He didn't do anything!"

"Tch," the guard said disdainfully, "My lord, your absence for the past six weeks has affected your self-awareness. When I came in, that man was reaching for the dagger that hangs from your belt. He would've killed you if I hadn't thought of checking up on you!"

Makoto's eyes widened and he looked down at the prostrate man in disbelief. He only stared back at him with menacing eyes. He wasn't objecting what the guard said. So it must've been true. "I...didn't notice," Makoto replied.

"Sire," the guard said, "You should never lower your guard around these freaks. Especially those with pretty eyes like this one." He pointed at the prisoner with his chin. "Those are the most traitorous in the Empire."

He spoke as if the man were not there. But Makoto couldn't disagree. He had experienced this various times with other prisoners. The difference was that he always saw it coming. With this man, he had completely lowered his guard. He should've known better. Suddenly, as Makoto was lost in his thoughts, the guard suddenly lifted his spear and smacked the end hard against the wall, just beside the prisoner's face who had managed to sit up and lean against it.

"Listen, punk," the guard said menacingly, "I could give a rat's ass about your pathetic pride. I could leave you here to bleed to death for all I care and nobody would give a shit. The reality is that your honor is gone, all you have left is your foolish pride. How idiotic." He laughed, "I'll cut to the chase. You lay a hand on Makoto-san and the Emperor himself will deal with you. He will chop off your arms and legs and STILL make you fight while you bleed out. So you better think your choices carefully...and start talking about the things you know! I bet that's the only reason you refuse to talk, eh? You must know stuff about the resistance and that's why you refuse to talk…!"

Makoto didn't like his tone. Makoto tugged his arm and told him, "Oi, that's enough…."

But the guard didn't stop there. "Your existence is meaningless!" the guard cried out irrationally, "Just die with the rest of your vermin!" He smacked the prisoner on the face again.

"Enough!" Makoto yelled irately. When he looked at the prisoner again, the man did not seem the least bit fazed by the guard's passionate hate speech. In fact, he did something very gutsy.

He grinned.

His teeth were stained with blood. A dribble of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. The guard, unable to withstand his attitude, raised his spear again, but Makoto cried angrily, "I said that's enough! You bring down that spear and you'll retire from your duties forever!"

The guard stopped midway and set down his spear. He looked at Makoto irritated and said, "Tch, if you weren't a Priest, I would think that you're siding with him."

"The Religion sides with no one," Makoto retorted wisely. Seeing the guards inability to calm down, Makoto sighed and said calmly, "the night is very hot and you must be tired. You are done with your duties for the night. I want no one else getting hurt so please return home, understood?" He spoke firmly, letting the man know his place. Another perk of being a Major Priest.

Without saying anything else, the guard bowed hastily and left the cell, not bothering to look at the prisoner. Makoto turned to the defiant man, who wasn't interested in looking at him. Instead he simply leaned against the wall and stared at the grungy bricks as if looking for something.

Makoto sighed. "There is no way to escape," he said, trying not to sound apologetic. After all, he had just tried to kill him. Makoto kneeled once more and grabbed his medical kit, which lay sprawled on the floor. Makoto decided to try one more time. He grabbed a piece of cloth and wet it with a rare disinfectant. Hoping that he would be more successful this time, Makoto said, "at least let me tend to the wound on your face."

But as he approached his face, the other man quickly reacted and grabbed caught hold of his wrist in midair. Once again he found himself staring into the man's eyes. Makoto froze, unsure what he would do next. Instead, he pulled his arm away, breaking free of his iron grip. Pulling his arm to himself as if he had saved it from an amputation, Makoto backed off. He didn't know what to do or say to placate this man's hate for him.

Makoto sighed, seeing the blood drip from the open cuts. He probably wouldn't die from such small wounds. But still, they needed to be treated. In truth, Makoto was unsure why he felt an urgent need to treat him. Why he didn't want to be hated. The man was bound to die next week so there was hardly any point in worrying about it.

No. That wasn't it. It was his life to help out others. Wasn't this why he dedicated his whole life to the Religion? But even so, he had to give up the fight for now, there was no chance he would get anything out of this guy, much less let him touch him.

Before he could say anything else, another guard called Makoto from outside of the cell. "Makoto-san!" The guard said, "you have been summoned by the Emperor."

Makoto silently cursed himself. So he finally noticed, huh?

Makoto smiled sadly. He picked up his equipment and said, "I will come back as soon as I can." He prompting left the cell, positive that the man could've cared less about his presence. _As soon as I can?_ He repeated his own words in his mind mockingly, _tsk…._


	4. Suffocate

**A/N: **This is the last chapter I will derive from chapter 1 (which was over 10,000 words but now is a lot less to read...thank god) and I will start updating stuff for real! xD Sorry for all this trouble.

**Warning**: NSFW; smut content ahead, you have been warned.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: Suffocate <strong>

It was already night when Makoto stood outside of the Emperor's door to his bedroom. Yes, his bedroom. Makoto couldn't help but notice as two priests passed by him, whispering something along the lines of, "some Major Priest" and "worst of taboos". Makoto let a chuckle escape his lips. Five years ago—and even before that—he would've turned around and argued against them, begging them to believe in him.

Begging them to believe that he would never lay with another man as the Religion prohibited.

But now he had no room to argue. They weren't wrong after all. Some Major Priest he was. He reluctantly opened the door and entered the room, not greeted by the Emperor in the least. The emperor stood on the far side of the room, staring outside the large window. Makoto didn't need to announce he was there for the man to know that. He had probably sensed him the moment he entered the palace. It was a suffocating sensation, truthfully, but Makoto announced himself anyway, "Did you call for me, my lord?"

The Emperor didn't turn around, he simply spoke, "Oh, so you've finally shown yourself." He spoke in a bitter tone.

So he knew. Makoto said nothing to his indignant statement.

The Emperor turned around and faced Makoto. He smirked at the mere sight of him. "Why so serious all of a sudden?" He said, marching toward the Priest, "it's just me, you know."

He said it so simply. As if being with his should've induced his happiness or a sense of calmness. What Makoto felt was far from that. He gulped down some saliva, even though his throat felt dry. He didn't like his tone. He knew that he took this tone when something was on his mind. Something sick and perverse.

"So you've been missing for a while," the Emperor continued, "Where have you been?"

"My lord…" Makoto began to explain himself.

"Tsk, don't be so nervous! I'm just asking a question!"

But the way the emperor circled around him, Makoto could feel his threatening aura. He couldn't _not_ feel nervous! To make matters worse, the Emperor began to trace his skin with his hands, not removing them from Makoto's shoulders. He harassed him with his slender but rough fingers, tracing over his skin which thankfully remained concealed by his robe. But not for long.

"I...wasn't feeling well…" Pathetic.

"Oh? So you were sick for six weeks is what you're saying? I'm shocked at your resilience!" He was mocking him. Of course he didn't believe him.

"I am sorry…" Makoto said, his voice threatening to break, "it's just...the weather has been really…."

The Emperor laughed. "So you're telling me that you were sick because of the weather?! Seriously? What are you, a woman?" The Emperor's face was so close to his. It was suffocating. "I've seen women handle the weather better than you. But then again...you aren't much of a man, aren't you?" He stood right behind Makoto, threatening to attack at any moment.

The breath on his nape made Makoto shudder uncomfortably.

Liking his reaction, the Emperor remarked, "you, know, I noticed you've gotten thinner. Have you not been feeding yourself? Well, it doesn't matter. The look suits you; you look more like a whore than a priest."

Makoto was supposed to answer with a thank you. But he couldn't speak, suddenly overwhelmed with fear.

The Emperor whispered sensually, enjoying every minute of it, "but even whores commit to their duties. You truly have some nerve to defy me, Ma-ko-to." He pronounced Makoto's name like a slithering snake and suddenly he bit his earlobe.

Makoto cringed and gasped at the sharp sensation. Pleased with himself, the Emperor began to tug at Makoto's robe with his fingers, sliding it down little by little, exposing the very smooth skin of his shoulders. Then his nape. Then his muscular, sensual back. Then the small of his back which just begged to be touched. Then his round buttocks which were the epitome of perfection. His legs were beyond godly. But if the Emperor had to choose one part of his body which he loved the most, it was his back.

He loved his broad back. Because every time he took him from behind he would watch as the muscles on his back would contort and seeing each muscle just drove him up the wall of lust and want. In short, he wanted to fuck him harder.

"You know, I haven't held you in the past six weeks," the Emperor said, biting at his nape, causing the priest to shiver, "since you always manage to slip away from me. Do you hate me that much?"

For the first time in a while, Makoto spoke up, "No, my lord."

"Tch! You're quite standoffish nowadays, aren't you?" The Emperor said, his hands gripping at his warm body, "seems we need to change that, don't we?"

Suddenly, Makoto's body shivered as the Emperor threw his robe to the side and forcefully touched his crotch. "My lor...hn!" Makoto wanted to object, but the older man had already wrapped his fingers around his hilt. "Wait! Sto..." Not only did he try to dissuade him, his own body seemed to move on its own accord, trying to wriggle his way out of his harsh grip on him.

"Stop...moving..." The Emperor ordered annoyed. He released his cock and pushed Makoto onto the bed. Makoto yelped and forced himself to stay there. The emperor towered over him and eyed his naked body mischievously.

"You've become so beautiful Makoto," he said with a perverse tone in his voice, "I remember when you refused to accept that you were a sick freak. Now you practically squeal at my touch. But you know, watching people lust after you even though you're a Priest is damn painful."

Makoto hated the way he looked at him. He abhorred those eyes looking at him. At his body. His face. His eyes. It was worse when he looked into his eyes. He couldn't stand it. He always found himself looking away and cowering from the man's gaze. Sensing this, the Emperor grabbed his chin and forced him to look at his face and into his eyes. It was horrible. "Look at you," the Emperor said, "hiding like a virgin. Is this how you feel every time I take you?" The Emperor traced the lines on Makoto's chest and guided his finger to one of his nipples.

"Ngh...ah!" Makoto yelped as the man kneaded his nipple like a soft toy.

But the Emperor was still waiting on an answer even as he kneaded his nipples. Makoto managed to gasp something out, "...y...yes..."

That was a lie. The Emperor smirked at him and only kept teasing him and his body. "You know, I should punish you for ditching your duties as a priest for the past six weeks. But even more than that you haven't fulfilled your duties as my whore."

"Ngh..." A sound of discomfort made it past his lips. Makoto didn't have any way to speak as his body was toyed with and he couldn't help but react to it.

"I could strip you off your position as a Major Priest. I could kick you out of the Palace. I could even kill you if I wanted to," the Emperor said calmly, as if he were reciting a schedule, "but I can't really do that, can I? After all, you're probably the only person in the Empire—no—In the WORLD who can keep up with me."

Makoto felt like sobbing. If only he wasn't like this. If only he could fulfill his duties as a Priest and if only he...didn't love men so much.

When he was unaware, the Emperor stopped playing with him and instead he spread his legs widely apart. Makoto looked up, feeling embarrassed by this position. His body shuddered as the Emperor traced his finger over the entrance of his asshole, just threatening to mercilessly delve into it but not actually doing it. Makoto's breathing quickened when he could feel himself becoming aroused by the sensation. And yet he hated it. He hated being constantly on edge because once he let his guard down, he knew the Emperor would take that chance to attack. Perhaps this was the reason why he wasn't bored of him yet.

"I won't throw you away," the Emperor said, touching Makoto's face like a prized possession, "you're too beautiful, plus you know you belong to me only, don't you, Makoto?"

Why couldn't he just get it over with? Being played with was driving him insane. And still he was feeling it throughout his body. The desire to be touched. He couldn't calm down even if he tried. His voice came out sounding like a sob when he replied, "...I...I...know...mn!"

The Emperor planted a rough kiss on his lips. It was suffocating. He couldn't breathe with the other man's tongue enveloping his forcefully, as if he were trying to reach deep down his throat and block the air out.

When he separated from his face, the Emperor boldly ordered, "Turn over."

They were two simple words. But Makoto knew exactly what he was talking about. He hesitantly raised his body and turned himself over, his face and chest facing the mattress while his rear was slightly up in the air.

Makoto heard a throaty laugh, and the Emperor ran his hands over the Priest's broad back. "Your back is so beautiful," the Emperor mused, "what a shame you aren't a woman, I wouldn't even let you out."

Makoto cringed at the idea. He didn't even want to begin to imagine a life like that. Being with the emperor, everyday for the rest of his life. Seeing no one else but him. It was enough to make Makoto's body shiver fearfully. The Emperor caught hold of his rear and dug his fingers onto his sensitive skin. He grabbed his ass and ordered him to stick it out more. Makoto shut his eyes and gripped the sheets beneath him, waiting for what came next. Sweat was already running down his brow.

"You're not saying it, Makoto," the Emperor said.

"...Eh...?" Makoto couldn't even say words anymore. His mind wasn't functioning right.

The Emperor didn't help him out. He merely teased him and kept playing with his body as much as he could, until Makoto remembered. The words he hated saying the most. He hated them because he didn't want to say them. Because they reflected the opposite of what he felt, but at the same time reflected _exactly _how he felt.

"...I...want...y...in..." He struggled to say the words.

"I can't hear you. Say them properly and look at me."

"Ah...hn!" Makoto gasped. His knees wobbled from the anticipation in this body. He couldn't stand this side of him. But he somehow managed to erect himself in that position. He craned his neck and looked into the Emperor's perverse eyes.

With a barely calm voice, Makoto muttered, "I want you inside me."

* * *

><p>It was almost one in the morning when Makoto tiptoed out of the Emperor's bedroom. He contemplated going to his room and getting some sleep, but there was an uncomfortable feeling that resided in his rear. He wanted it out of him. Everything. So instead he headed for the washrooms, where he set up a bathtub full of cold water. The day may have been hot, but the morning was usually chilly, so the cold water against his sensitive skin didn't make him feel better in particular.<p>

He grabbed a sponge and scrubbed his body until it was red and irritated. Nevertheless, he never cried once. He simply scrubbed the filth off of himself. Not that the filth of his soul could ever be scrubbed off, but he could only try. Yet he couldn't help but cringe uncomfortably when he dug two fingers between his buttocks and cleaned the residue of sex out of himself. He felt torn and disgusted. But perhaps this was merely punishment after six weeks of his insolence. He should've seen that coming.

Still, he felt lucky that there had been no one around when he left that room. There were many occasions when he had stepped out of that room while there were people outside. They did nothing but stare at him. But even if there was no one right now, Makoto was positive of one thing.

Everyone knew.

He couldn't hide from anyone that he was the Emperor's whore. The only reason he still had his position was because the Emperor claimed to be exclusively blessed by Him. Thus he argued that having sexual intercourse with any person, including a Priest, was like being blessed by Him himself. In other words, being fucked by the Emperor was supposed to be a divine experience that was good for the soul. Makoto could only shake his head, since the teachings of the Religion said no such thing, but the Emperor was obstinate. Whatever he said was true was the truth.

But that didn't stop some of the other Priests from developing a grudge on Makoto for his impious actions. Makoto didn't blame them. Every time he left that room he hated himself just a little more than the last time.

But not everyone hated him. In fact, most of the Priests—in particular, the Priestesses —respected him. Makoto wasn't the first person the Emperor screwed with in that manner. In the past, when his wife refused to consummate for other than producing the next heir, the Emperor sought many mistresses. He took many of them, even Priestesses, by force but most ended up crying because it was too painful to bear. It was then that he started to look at men. But not just any men. He focused mostly on effeminate men. And even though Makoto wasn't physically effeminate in the least, the Emperor seemed to have noticed something in him that was absent in all the other men. For some reason, only he could withstand his rough treatment without breaking down.

"Ngh...Ow, ow..." Makoto let out a little cry a as he took the remnants out of himself.

He didn't have to bear it. He could've broken down like everyone else and the Emperor would've looked for someone else. But the thought of more victims going through the same thing he had was enough to give him the resolve to keep doing this. And unlike the others, he had a major flaw that doomed him from the very beginning. He could only love men. The Emperor would've put it differently, however. He only liked being _fucked _by men.

It was a bold statement. But it was the truth no matter how he looked at it.

The Priest rose from the bathtub, the water dripping along the lines of his body. He felt a pestering ache between his legs and the small of his back. Normally Gou would massage his back. But he knew that she must be asleep at this hour. Everyone was asleep, except him. He didn't feel sleepy after soaking in cold water and sticking his fingers up his ass.

In the end, he did nothing else but return to his room and lay awake in bed. Normally, he would've read, but he had no desire to read. He simply stared at the ceiling, making images out of the patterns of the ceiling. This kind of made him feel nostalgic. He thought of the days when he was free. When Ren, Ran and himself would lay on the grass and look up at the sky and make figures out of the clouds. Makoto sighed at the brief recollection. When had he last seen his family? He didn't even want to begin counting the years he hadn't spent with them. If only he would've been normal. If only he didn't have the undesirable qualities. If only he wasn't a...

Makoto shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to think about that anymore. He turned over on his side and decided to focus on the present. Tomorrow he had to make sure the Priests in-training were handling their duties correctly. He had to help tend the wounded. He had to check on the prisoners. He had to check on...him.

When the face of the last prisoner surfaced in his mind, Makoto groaned irritated. Great. He had tried to be a little positive. But the mere thought of seeing that man again made his skin crawl and his heart sink. He didn't let him treat his wounds despite Makoto's reassurance. He could feel that he hated him for some reason. His beastly glare pierced his very soul. To top it off, he had tried to kill him. Who knew what he would try next? What annoyed Makoto even more was that he didn't even know his name. And that he refused to talk. It was strange. Most of the prisoners ended up talking some way or another. But he completely refused.

What was he so afraid of? Perhaps the guard was right after all and he truly knew something about the resistance that no one else knew. Perhaps his name was so important that saying it would jeopardize...something. A plan? Possibly a tribe? The resistance itself? Who knew? There were so many unanswered questions and Makoto couldn't even begin to guess what was true and what wasn't, since he did not get a single word out of that man's mouth. He had to respect his resolve, however. Perhaps tomorrow he would be a little luckier...

But why did it matter? Why did Makoto think about him as if he had all the time in the world to get to know him?

He would be gone with most of the newcomers in less than a week. Whether he talked or not hardly mattered. Without opening his eyes, Makoto sighed frustrated. He placed his arm over his eyes, hoping that forcing them closed would provide him with a miracle and he would finally fall asleep.


	5. Survivor

**Chapter 4: Survivor**

Today was one of those days where He was openly punishing Makoto for his sins. At least that was how Makoto felt this morning. The rays of the sun seemed to cut through every cloud and every obstacle just to pierce through his skin with the heat and the suffocating air. The battle had not yet started and already he was sweating from every pore in his body. He looked around and saw that the other priests were looking no better, but at least they seemed slightly more composed than he did. That was what six weeks of insolence did to him. Now he had to pay for it. This was his punishment for forgetting his place as a sinner because in the end, his so-called internal revolution didn't last.

Makoto found himself committing to his duties once more on Mondays. Initially, he priests were shocked to see him back, since he had been gone for so long. But even so, no one dared question him about his sudden absence. The only one who knew of what was going on was Gou, but even she wasn't aware of the details. Thus, without any questions from anyone, he went on with his life as he had before.

Unfortunately for him, the week had gone by very fast and now he was forced to watch the horrible battles for the first time in six weeks. To make matters worse, the weather really _was _wearing him out quickly. There was some poetic justice in that, Makoto felt.

Except that now he wasn't feeling so great. _I should've drank more water before leaving_, Makoto thought regretfully. His forehead was already dripping with sweat, and his sweat-drenched hair was pinned against it. The stickiness made it all more uncomfortable. It wasn't even twelve yet.

"Makoto-senpai," a young, redheaded priestess remarked concernedly, "You look terrible. You're sweating a lot!" She stood beside him, holding his arm which was lightly trembling.

Makoto chuckled wearily and replied, "You don't look much drier than me, Gou-chan." She was sweating as much as him, yet she seemed just fine.

Gou pouted and smacked him gently on the head, "You don't have to point it out, you know!" But when Makoto stopped chuckling, she said with a serious face, "But honestly, if you're not feeling fine you should rest. Don't push yourself!"

Makoto smiled at her, appreciating her concern. She truly was a blessing to have around. He felt even luckier that he had the opportunity to stand beside her during the battles. "I've pushed my luck as it is," he remarked, glancing up at the Emperor who gulped a large mug of crystalline water while sitting under a nice, cool shade. He watched as remnants of the sparkling water trailed down his neck, taunting him, torturing him. "I'll be fine."

But he didn't feel fine at all. His body felt worn-out and immensely hot. Was he always this weak?

Trying to ignore the situation he was in, he looked around. The coliseum was quickly filling up with exotic people that came all over the world to watch. As usual, the overwhelming sounds of cheers and excited hollers deafened his ears. Even more unfortunate for him was that he and the other Priests were positioned closer to the bottom of the arena, so they could see everything from there. They got a first-seat view of all the gruesome mutilation that happened every time they gathered here. How great.

Each Priest was positioned in a certain post around the arena. On a symbolic notion, the presence of the religious leaders was imperative to the Warriors' salvation. It was as if He was watching over them while they battled, and those who survived were, in theory, blessed by Him. Which was only contradicted by the fact that most who survived the first time died the next time. The rules of the battles were simple. The idea was to fight each other to the death.

Those who could last a total of seven months would be granted freedom.

That was the theory. Not that Makoto believed in it, after all, he had not witnessed anyone make it to those seven months. It was practically impossible. And even if they did, Makoto figured the Emperor wouldn't really grant them their freedom. It was probably a hoax, and still these men had to fight anyway. Most men who made it further than others never lasted past the third month. He'd seen at least one person make it to the sixth month.

But in the end, he didn't make it either.

It was rumored that those who survived longer and then died before they could be granted freedom were only going to hit the depths of Hell much harder, since He was ultimately punishing them by igniting their hopes just to kill them off. It was an abstract and almost menacing idea in the Religion, but Makoto could not argue against it, since he had read something along those lines in the Book of Truth.

Everyone was given a specific post, the higher Priests were stationed closer to the Emperor while the Priests in-training were stationed on the other side of the arena. Apparently they weren't worthy enough to be close to the Emperor, who was supposed to be the closest to Him. Makoto's position, of course, was near the Emperor being a Major Priest. But it was also his way to watch over him.

Now he was being stricter with him for his insolent behavior for the past six weeks. But in truth, Makoto knew that the Emperor probably wanted him to do something like that again. He wanted him to defy him, so that he could prove to him how powerless he was against him. After reliving the vicious treatment he received last time from the Emperor, he didn't DARE defy him again. He remained close to the post beside the Emperor. Makoto craned his head upward to sneak a look at the older man. He in turn did not even notice him. His wife sat next to him, looking the least bit interested in the event, or anything in general.

Makoto couldn't help but grimace, not liking the sight of these two, and look away to watch somewhere else. The Arena was completely filled up and still taking in more spectators. These, of course, were people from the higher middle classes and above. Aristocratic foreigners _sailed_ just to see these games in the capital. Although the Empire had Arenas stationed in almost every major city, it was rumored that only the most aggressive and tough men were brought to the Arena. Consequently, the most bloody and violent battles were held here. How disgusting.

Irritated with the weather, the noise and his sweaty body, Makoto leaned against his post, unable to hear his sigh even though he intentionally sighed loudly, almost wanting to be heard. But of course, the jumbled chattering about him quickly muted out his sigh.

Suddenly, the voices of the spectators intensified in unison at the sight of the first incoming prisoners. Makoto turned his attention toward the large arena beneath him, preparing himself for the worst. And then, one by one, they walked out, their hands and feet chained up. They came in a multitude of sizes and heights. From tall to short, from muscular to stick thin, from old to young. But they all had something in common.

They were all worn out.

Makoto could recognize the newcomers. They were the ones that moved less out of confusion, not knowing how to move or where to look. They had a look of fear and their faces were "beautified" with the outrageous powders and dyes that the Emperor forced them to wear.

The veterans were the ones who didn't have to wear the powders. And the crowd always yelled louder for them, since there were a couple of these men who had survived long enough to earn the audiences' respect. Compared to the newcomers, they also were a lot more confident and physically stronger. These men reacted by raising their chained arms in their air, urging them to cheer them on with worn-out smirks on their faces, driving the audience wild. And no doubt that these guys were the ones that provided the most entertainment. Makoto had witnessed some of these men crack a man's skull with their powerful legs. They were the kind of men to taunt the confused newcomers for the sake of amusement only to kill them soon after. These were quite gruesome battlers.

"Mikoshiba-san…" Makoto heard Gou whisper. Following her gaze, Makoto saw that it rested on a particular man. He had short, orange-red hair and eyes yellow like citrines. He had a large build without a doubt. He could definitely have taken on the veterans if he wanted to.

"Is he one of your prisoners, Gou-chan?" Makoto asked, unsure if she had heard him.

The Priestess jumped slightly, a scarlet shade on her cheeks. How unusual of her to react that way. Were her cheeks red because of the heat? He wondered. Or was it something else?

"Um, yeah," she replied hastily, "He's one of the prisoners I'm watching over. He's very…talkative."

Makoto could understand. There were some prisoners who just left an impression, regardless of how simple that trait was. Whether they were talkative, mellow or simply stoic, their traits just seemed to stand out on these certain individuals more than others.

Watching closely, he began to notice his appointed prisoners, albeit he didn't recognize many of them. He mostly remembered a few that had asked for a wish. Luckily, Makoto had made their wishes come true as best as he could. Interestingly enough, his focus rested on one particular soldier.

It was that one who towered majestically over his fellow inmates, standing straight and looking massively tall. One whose hands were clenched in fists, almost as if threatening to destroy these chains with one flex on his arms. One who had a stern look in his face. It was he who had short ebony hair, the musculature of a conqueror and the eyes of the forgotten depths of the ocean.

It was the silent soldier who refused to speak his name…or anything.

He didn't understand why his eyes had found him out of all these people. It was more like, he noticed him _more _than the rest. That only bedazzled him more, however, since that man not only refused to talk to him, he had also tried to kill him. Perhaps he was merely concerned for the treatment he had received during the time they didn't meet. Was he fed like the others? Did someone check his injuries? Did he still hate him? He assumed he probably did. But in the end, he couldn't keep his eyes off of him. Even more than that, he felt strangely uncomfortable looking at him. There was something amiss. After inspecting him for a moment, however, he finally realized what it was.

His face was covered by the same idiotic powders and it almost made Makoto cringe.

Looking at those horrible colors on his face felt so wrong. It seemed as if they were _violating _his face. It didn't look right at all, considering that his face was almost flawless except for a few bruises here and there. Perhaps the reason it stood out to Makoto so much was because of his expression, and the way he held himself. He was...different from the others.

The other young men looked about fearfully, some had even broken down already. They crouched and made themselves smaller, as if they stood naked in front of a crowd. Makoto found himself praying for them…they would be the first to go. But while everyone else seemed afraid or confused, the silent man was not fazed at all. He didn't tremble. He only looked about a few times around the arena as if gathering information on his surroundings, but now he merely stood there looking at someone. Makoto followed his gaze and found himself looking at a pair of veterans who eyed him mischievously, plotting something. His fearlessness had piqued their interest. Makoto sighed involuntarily.

He was done for.

There was no way he could last in this battle, much less when he had two Veterans on his back now. It would take a miracle for him to survive since these men were no joke. They were so tainted with other people's blood and blinded by their arrogance that they no longer were the same person they had started out as. Makoto silently prayed for them as well; enduring everything up until this moment must've been horrible. Still, for reasons he couldn't comprehend, he only watched the silent warrior.

Despite his unquestionable fate, he didn't show signs of being afraid, nor was he shaken up in any way. He stood just like a veteran would, with a confidence yet displaying no arrogance. In fact, calling him a veteran didn't do it justice. It was almost as if he was letting everyone know that he wasn't afraid of anything. After all, he truly has the posture of a conqueror. Every bulging muscle and every scar that stood out in his body let the world know of his powerful capabilities. He wouldn't go down so easily. At least, that was what it seemed like to Makoto.

Makoto snapped out of his thoughts when the arena suddenly became quieter. Knowing what was going on, he looked up and saw the Emperor had already risen from his special throne which overlooked the entire arena. Everyone turned their attention toward him and the Emperor loudly announced the instructions, holding a large hourglass in his hand. The hourglass marked the time from noon until the sunset. The battle would not end until the last grain hit the mound of sand.

Meanwhile, the guards unchained the prisoners, each one freed off their heavy chains for even if it was for just a moment. Makoto looked up at the Emperor, who had a wicked grin on his face as his assistant fired an arrow lit with fire at the bottom of the arena. This was part of the tradition, it was another way to scare the newcomers.

Makoto hastily turned his head to look at the pit beneath him. Luckily no one had been hit by the arrow. He closed his eyes and sighed thankfully. Not that that would do him much good. Feeling dreadful and weary, Makoto began to feel his body sway. His mind was in a haze. He blinked involuntarily, barely able to keep himself up.

"Makoto-senpai?" He heard Gou ask right beside him, but her voice sounded so muddled, he could hardly believe she was right next to him. "You look terrible! Are you alright?"

Barely understanding what she just said, Makoto didn't answer. He merely forced his eyes open and for five seconds, everything was clear. His eyes found another pair of eyes. The menacing depths of the ocean. He was looking at the man. No. The other man was looking at _him_. Makoto couldn't believe it. The silent warrior was looking at him. But it wasn't a nice look. It was a look of…disgust. As if he couldn't stand the mere sight of him. As if he could grab the nearest spear and launch it straight at his heart. But in truth, Makoto wouldn't have minded. He hated him, didn't he? Perhaps dying wouldn't be such a bad thing. And still, his chest was pounding rapidly. Why was he so flustered? Why did he dread being stared at like that by this man? Unable to withstand it, Makoto broke the gaze between them, his body finally giving out.

And then, finally, the Emperor turned the hourglass over. The last thing Makoto remembered was hearing an explosion of hollers and cheers as his body roughly touched the ground. "Makoto-senpai!" He heard a feminine scream beside him. The people around him seemed taller from this view. They also looked more distorted. How funny. He felt a pair of soft, motherly arms wrap around his body. But the truth was, he wanted to stay there. Exactly on this spot. The reason…?

Because from this angle, from this very spot, that man wasn't looking at him.

* * *

><p>Makoto launched himself out of bed, waking up from a nightmare. His body felt like stone, every movement seemed to weigh him down. He rubbed his temples and the skin between his eyebrows, his head overwhelmed by a headache. What…happened? He tried to remember, but could only summon vague recollections. He had passed out. He had been dehydrated. That much he could remember.<p>

"Makoto-senpai!" Two simultaneous voices cried out. It was Gou and Ai, both hurrying to tend to him. Both hurriedly asked him questions like "Are you alright?" and "What happened?" and "Don't get up yet, alright?" Their honesty was too much.

Makoto smiled at them. "I'm fine," he replied, "but frankly, I'm not sure what happened."

Suddenly, Gou smacked him on the head.

"Ow! Ow!" Makoto cried out, his head aching from that small hit.

"Makoto-senpai, I told you not to push yourself if you weren't feeling fine!" Gou exclaimed frowning, "You got yourself in this situation, you know! You deserve at least five smacks on the head."

"I'll pass…." Makoto replied.

"Oi! Gou-san, that's not proper behavior toward a Major Priest…." Aichirou stated nervously.

"Don't 'oi' me," Gou snapped back, "For being a Major Priest, he's pretty reckless and gets himself in a lot of trouble. He's so laidback that if I weren't here, who knows where he'd be right now!"

Makoto laughed guiltily, "That is true…."

"Wow, Gou-san," Ai replied amazed, "You should be a Major Priest then!"

Gou laughed nervously, her demeanor suddenly shifting. "No way!" She replied humbly, "Women…don't really get that position. But it's okay! It's not like I want that position that much anyway. I like serving Him. I think that's what matters. But anyway…" she paused, a glum look on her face, "I was very worried, Makoto-senpai."

Makoto smiled and said, "I know, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Makoto-senpai," Gou retorted.

"You're right," Makoto said, followed by a laugh.

As the three conversed, Gou explained what had happened during the battle while Makoto drank tea and Ai listened. For starters, Makoto was out the entire time. He had barely woken up as the battle ended. Aichirou watched over him while Gou returned to her post, thus she had seen everything. Apparently most of the newcomers died. However, two veterans were killed. That piece of information caught Makoto's attention.

"Wait," Aichirou interrupted briefly, "Two veterans _died_? That's rare."

"I know," Gou replied, "And it wasn't just anyone. One of them had been here for two months already. The other was already on his fourth month."

That was even odder, Makoto thought. "I can't believe it!" Ai exclaimed, "Who killed them? Another veteran?"

"You see, that's the strangest thing," Gou said, "It wasn't a veteran who killed them."

"Huh?" The platinum-haired youth's eyes widened.

As he sipped his tea, Makoto began to recollect. That's right. He recalled being stared at by that man. He was probably dead by now, wasn't he? Or…could it be?

"It was one of the newcomers," Gou continued her story, "Apparently the two veterans were working together to kill him, but he killed them off like nothing. I don't really know him, but he was pretty tall, with olive-tan skin. I didn't really see his face that well, but I know he had short, black-brown hair."

Makoto stopped drinking tea altogether. Was it possible that he…?

Before Gou could finish the details of the battle, one of the Priests in-training burst through the door, his face completely panicked. "I'm sorry for the interruption!" The boy cried out apprehensively, "But there's an uproar going on right now at one of the cells!"

What did this have to do with them? Makoto wondered.

"Makoto-senpai," the boy continued, "I'm sorry for asking this of you, but one of your prisoners is going on a rampage! Even the guards are having a hard time dealing with him!"

It was true that Makoto was good at placating people. "Who is it?" Makoto asked, jumping out of the bed quickly. He got a concerned look from Gou and Ai.

"Nobody knows," the boy replied.

"Huh?" Wait…could it really be…?

"He refuses to tell us his name. In fact, he doesn't say anything at all!" The boy replied, "It's some tall man with teal eyes, the one that killed the two veterans today."

Makoto's eyes widened and he ran out of there, not paying mind as Gou cried out to him, telling him not to run in his condition.


	6. Uncertainty

**Chapter 5: Uncertainty**

"Oi! Makoto-senpai! You're not well yet! Hold on!" Makoto could hear the faint voices of Gou and Aiichiro calling out to him as he ran along the tunnels of the underground prison. Truthfully, Makoto could barely keep himself up as he ran. It was a mystery that Gou and Ai didn't catch up to him immediately. He had to rely on the walls beside him, his fingertips barely feeling the grainy surface. There were iron doors embedded on the walls and they were so identical that running through these tunnels was like looking at a strange mirage. Every time he passed by the same door, Makoto wondered if he had already been in this area. But hearing the ruckus get louder made him realize he was closer than he thought. Makoto wasn't sure why he was running, he knew he had just woken up from passing out, but for some reason when the young boy told him about the occurrence he…had to see it for himself.

It couldn't be possible, could it? There were two veterans who had targeted him _specifically_ and he _killed _both of them?! Was that even possible? Makoto had seen veterans defeat veterans, but it was rare for a newcomer to kill one veteran, much less two. Even more than that, he had to see for himself that the man who had done it was none other than…him. Did he really do it after all? Or was it someone else?

No. It _was _him. It must've been.

Makoto made a final turn and found himself within the depths of the prison. He stared at the ruckus surrounding the isolated cell he had visited just a couple of days ago. The cell of the silent man. There were priests spectating about while two prison guards struggled to drive the berserk man inside the cell. The silent man never said anything. He didn't shout or yell or anything. He simply pushed and fought with the remainder of his strength. Unsurprisingly, there was a deathly glare on his face as he raised his fists to fight off the guards. The Priests, all which were Priests in-training, looked absolutely flabbergasted. They were horrified with the scene unraveling before them.

For some reason, now that he was here, Makoto couldn't move. His feet remained frozen on that spot.

Looking closely, however, he could see that that man was sweating from every pore in his body. His sweat had already mixed with the blood that trailed down his forehead and certain parts of his body. Like his arms. And his palms. And his knuckles. His legs were in no better condition. They were filthy from the sweat mixed with dust. From here, Makoto could see them trembling. He seemed have enough strength to fight off the guards, but the reality was that he was rapidly losing that remaining reserve of energy he had left. He wasn't going to last very long in this state. Makoto couldn't comprehend why he was thinking about these things. And then he finally realized it.

He was only human.

He was just as human as anybody else in here. And it was his job as a Priest to make sure that he was treated like a human being. Seeing the horror-stricken faces of the other Priests, Makoto's lips trembled unnaturally when he spoke up, "Everyone! Don't be afraid."

His voice caught the spectators' attention. Not just the Priests, however. The two guards and the silent rebel momentarily stopped their brawl to look at the higher Priest. They were barely able to hold on to the other man, who threatened to start more trouble at any moment.

Makoto heard faint murmurs and slightly louder voice mumble, "Hush! Tachibana-senpai is about to talk!"

Makoto hardened the features in his face momentarily to address the panicked young Priests. As he opened his mouth to speak, he heard a pair of footsteps behind him. It was Gou and Aiichiro. "Don't forget," Makoto declared, "that we are dealing with other human beings. No matter how beastly they may seem, it is our duty to treat human beings like human beings. Isn't that what the Religion has taught us?"

Some of them didn't look so convinced. But he could see others were trying their best to understand.

"Wipe those fear-stricken expressions," Makoto stated proudly, "Your job is to serve Him and part of that is doing the most dangerous tasks regardless of the circumstance. If you are afraid or if you regret your decisions, then it is like saying that you are ashamed of serving Him. Right now, you all look like you regret serving him. If that is the case, then please abandon your roles as Priests. But if you are a loyal servant to Him, then harden your hearts and abandon all fear. There is nothing to be afraid of. After all, this man's only human, just like you."

He looked directly into the silent man's eyes, who had stopped all movement to hear him out as well. It was almost shocking. But looking closely, Makoto knew that his final energy reserve had completely depleted. He could no longer fight. And even if he did manage to break free of their grip, he would not get very far in this maze-like prison with guards at just about every corner.

Nevertheless, Makoto found his eyes, which only stared back with the same expression he had given him so far. Hatred. Disgust. But there was something else. Something so minor that Makoto wondered if he was merely trying to convince himself. Maybe he was only fatigued. Maybe he was hungry. Or thirsty. Or all three combined. But if he was trying to convince himself, then so be it.

What he saw in his eyes—in those dark teal eyes of his—was none other than uncertainty.

Noticing that the crowd was still looking at him, he opened his mouth to finalize his speech. But before he spoke again, Makoto could hear a faint murmur behind him. It was Aiichiro speaking to Gou, "Wow, I didn't know Makoto-senpai could be so cool!"

Makoto heard a soft chuckle coming from Gou's lips. "Well," she replied quietly, "he is a Major Priest for a reason."

_Ai. Gou. Don't say those kind of things. We all know that's not really true,_ Makoto thought.

And yet, he couldn't hold back a smile hearing those words. He looked at everyone else and finally continued, "I want everyone to return to their duties. There's much to be done at this moment! There's no time for slacking off and do not concern yourselves with him, after all, he is my prisoner."

With that stated, the Priests in-training began to disperse quietly, each returning to their original posts and whatnot. Makoto looked back to find that Gou and Ai had left as well. He looked to the guards who were barely managing to hold the persevering man. The Priest approached them and looked at the man. But still, the man spoke nothing. He simply held the same glare that he always had on his face and Makoto could only wonder if he had been wrong after all. The guards looked at Makoto questioningly. He noticed that one of them was a middle-aged man while the other guard was much younger, he had an aura of naivety. The older guard looked at him unfazed, not buying his "little speech" he just gave. On the other hand, the younger guard's eyes flashed admiringly.

"What happened?" Makoto demanded.

"Well, what does it look like?" The older man asked sarcastically, "This punk here tried to make a run for it."

"I see," Makoto replied.

"Tch! This piece of trash could've killed us or some other idiotic Priest! We're gonna take him to the Emperor so he can execute him immediately! He got me real good on my cheekbone."

"No," Makoto objected.

"Tachibana-san?" The younger guard spoke up curiously.

"I'm afraid that's my call, not yours," Makoto replied, "From the looks of it, you'll be fine. After all, he wanted to kill me about a week ago." Makoto turned to look at the man, who was still being held with an iron grip. "You're quite something," Makoto told the man in front of him, "You're barely holding up and yet you're still fighting." He sighed and closed his eyes, "I'm sorry that you had to go through something like this."

The man merely scowled at him but once again something was different. There. Reflected within the depths of those eyes, Makoto could see it. The uncertainty. He only saw it for a split second, but this time he knew he hadn't imagined it. Could he perhaps…get through to him somehow?

But his short-lived victory did not last very long, because soon after the man scowled at him with a menacing grimace that Makoto could feel all the intense emotions breaking his soul. It was more than he could bear. He had to step back briefly, the guards watching him quizzically, wondering why he was reacting this way. But neither spoke up soon enough. The silent man's body swayed and after trembling violently finally faltered, almost dragging the guards with him.

The guards allowed the man to drop to the grainy floor. They looked to Makoto, wondering what they should do. Noticing this, Makoto explained, "I want you to put him in his cell, then return to your posts. I would also appreciate it if you could have someone bring me my kit and a bowl of water to wash him."

The two men merely stared at the passed out body of the powerful man. But soon enough, they grabbed the body and placed him on his cell as the higher Priest had commanded. They seemed skeptical. For all they knew, he could probably jump right back into action and kill him on the spot, the way he had tried when Makoto first met him. Voicing out their concern, one of the guards stated, "My lord, I think it would be best if we chain him up. He's too dangerous."

"No," Makoto bluntly refuted his suggestion, "it will be more difficult to wash him if he's chained up like that. Even more than that, chaining him up will dangerously numb his arms. I've seen it happen multiple times."

"But isn't that a good thing, my lord?" The other guard spoke up, "He's a savage beast! He could've killed us back there if you hadn't distracted him!"

"Yeah!" The other guard agreed, "If I were a Priest and had to deal with this kind of brute for the rest of my life, I would gladly give up my duties as a Priest."

Makoto found himself laughing at that statement for some reason. "And that is the reason you do not qualify as Priests, gentlemen," Makoto replied patiently, "your courage can never reach the level of a Priest. After all, we do not resort to violence and sticks to handle human beings."

"Tch," the first guard clicked his tongue annoyed and said under his breath, "if only you weren't the Emperor's whore…."

At that moment, Makoto felt his heart painfully skip a beat. That…really hurt more than he thought it would. So even they knew, huh. The younger guard interjected and asked, "In that case, is that your final order? You really don't want us to chain him up?"

Coming back to reality, Makoto replied, "Yes, that's right."

"In that case," the same guard said, "We'll leave him to you, my lord."

"Yeah," the older guard said sarcastically, "let's hope that by the time we come back, he hasn't skinned you alive. It would be a shame if the Emperor had to look for another royal whore as a replacement. Oi! We're leaving." The guard immediately left the scene, with the younger guard following suit. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the older man didn't seem to regard him much to begin with. Life in the underground prisons was quite something.

Not wanting to be disturbed, Makoto closed the door behind him, leaving it unlocked for the delivery person who would arrive with the necessary equipment. In the meantime, Makoto turned to look at the unmoving body of the silent man. His face was still touching the floor, and his back faced the ceiling. Makoto cautiously moved closer and kneeled beside him. He gently lowered his hand atop his broad, bare back. The man did not flinch. He was completely out of it. Makoto sighed relieved, not sure he could take any more of his menacing scowl. It really drained his morality.

He inspected the other man's back. Luckily for him, there were not many wounds there, at least none that he had to stitch up. The back of his legs seemed alright too. Makoto gently grabbed the man's body and turned it over so that this time, his face was facing the ceiling. The damage was more prominent here, but that was an overstatement. Sure, blood seeped out of the gashes but to say these were mortal wounds would be an exaggeration. He had but a couple scratches here and there. There were a lot of cuts on his arms and deltoids. There was a prominent gash on the kin beneath his collarbone, apparently one of the veterans had tried to slash his throat but missed it, hitting his collarbone instead. And even then, the cut was not very deep. With a few stitches, he would be fine. Similarly, his abdominal area had an abundance of cuts. They must've really wanted to gut him in that instant.

After inspecting that, Makoto took a closer look at the man's face. He noticed the makeup was almost completely off, but residue of the white powder remained on the edges of his face, even caked partially on his hair and the edges of his nose. The red dye on his lips was mixed with the red of his and other people's blood. His lower lip was swollen and purple. It was a ghastly sight. Miraculously, however, he did not end up with a black eye. In fact, his mere existence at this moment in time was a miracle. If anything, the Priest was more bedazzled than he was impressed. He wondered how good of a fighter he must be to come back not only alive but practically intact.

"Tachibana-senpai, I've brought the kit and the bowl with water," a Priest in-training announced his arrival, his face was unfamiliar to Makoto. In both arms, he carried a large bowl of barely warm water, and on his arm hung a large bag containing Makoto's medical kit. He must've been stronger than he looked to be able to carry both things at once. Makoto kindly thanked him, helping him set the bowl beside the sleeping warrior.

After the boy left with a polite bow, Makoto turned to the man again and kneeled beside him once again. _Let's get this started_, he thought objectively, wetting a lone piece of cloth with the warm water.

While the cloth soaked inside the bowl, Makoto tentatively grabbed the man's body, nervous that he might wake him up and even more conscious about the fact that he might probably attack him. And kill him. So his slender fingers tentatively reached for the other man's skin. He knew that suddenly touching him might wake him up, so he slowly slid his fingers on the skin above the rim of his trousers. To his surprise, his skin was warm compared to the cooler touch of his fingertips. He gently slid his fingers to the center of his stomach, where he found and unbuttoned the fly of his trousers.

Not wanting to roughly pull his trousers down, he managed to lift his limp body and rest it on his lap, almost cradling him. Slowly and carefully, he pulled down the filthy trousers which were only replaced by a familiar set of dark pubic hair and a limp manhood. Makoto only watched unfazed. He had seen so many of these that he had grown used to look at them. This however, wasn't the case for most of the prisoners. Most of them _dreaded_ having another man clean them. They had to be asleep to avoid remembering, but in instances where they were awake, they had no choice but to endure it. Makoto's heart hurt watching these men writhe with disgust from something as mundane as washing somebody else.

Makoto shook his head. Thinking about it was pointless. He moved the other man's body from his lap and gently set him on the ground. Then he grabbed the cloth which was completely soaked and began with his right arm. He had only barely wiped down half of his arm and already the cloth became stained with blood and filth. Some blood barely seeped out of the now-visible gashes.

Makoto dunked the cloth inside the warm water and watched the water become tainted with the filth of the cloth. But Makoto didn't mind, it wasn't the first time he had seen something like this. This was what he lived for. And he was proud of it. He raised the man's arm and wiped it down until every inch of his arm was spotless. He wiped the filth off his palms, off every crease on his knuckles and joints of his fingers. He cleaned the spaces between them, and even attempted to dig the dirt out of his nails. When he finished that side, he did the same for the other side, repeating the same process, treating him gingerly as if he could break. But that was a funny thought since he had been the one to single handedly kill two men on his first battle. Whoever would've thought that his build would betray his expectations.

Makoto had seen far too many newcomers, all who had a larger build than this man, drop dead _minutes_ in battle. And yet this man lasted the entire time and defeated two veterans without losing at least one limb. It was almost hard to believe. _He really is quite something..._, Makoto smiled, wiping down the filth of his hard breast. His fingers could feel his nipple underneath the cloth as he traced over his chest. He traced his skin on his chest with the cloth over and over, gradually getting rid of every layer of filth. Then he did the same for every mound of muscle on his abdominals, gradually exposing every open cut ornamenting his already scarred body.

He turned his body whenever necessary, washing every inch, gradually revealing a handsome sleeping soldier. After wiping down almost everything, Makoto looked at his face, which was still covered in grime and filth. He allowed the cloth to soak once again and gently lifted the man's head, resting it on his lap. After squeezing out the extra water from the cloth, he wiped the man's cheek. Then his nose. Then his chin. Then his fleshy lips. Then his forehead. And finally...his eyes. It took a lot of effort to do this carefully, but he was finally spotless. Seeing the man's sleeping face made Makoto realize how peaceful he looked. He was like a mountain lion. They're terrifying when they're awake, but when they're asleep, people felt compelled to touch them. Realizing this, Makoto ruffled his now clean hair. It was still damp, but it was better than leaving it sweaty and stiff.

And then, something strange happened.

The man suddenly moved. Makoto's heart stopped momentarily, aware that he might've been careless and woke him up. And considering that his head was on his lap, he was in a particularly vulnerable position. Fearing the worst, he was ready to move as soon as this man opened his eyes. But he never did. The man simply turned on his side, his cheek resting on Makoto's robe as if his lap were a warm pillow. He suddenly raised his arm, unconsciously wrapping it around Makoto's waist, giving it a firm squeeze. _Huh_?! Makoto wondered. This was a difficult situation.

_How can I move when he has me trapped like this?!_ Makoto's mind panicked for a minute or so, wondering what he should do. He had to finish up. There were other duties to fulfill. There were people to feed and clean. He had to check on the other Priests to see how they were doing. There was so much to go.

And yet.

The man beneath him was breathing so calmly that thinking about anything felt pointless. Feeling that strong warm grip on his waist felt oddly reassuring. Like he could stay like this longer if he wanted to. This was nice. This was probably what peace looked like. And on those terms, Makoto found himself smiling.

_Too bad that this is probably the only time I will ever see this guy like this,_ the bitter thought instinctively flashed in Makoto's mind.

And suddenly, in the midst of this dreamlike state, a hard truth hit Makoto's heart. This man...hated him. He had tried to kill him last week. No matter how defenseless he looked, that didn't change the fact that once he opened his eyes, he would probably jump him and kill him right there. Just like a mountain lion. By realizing this, Makoto felt as if a spell had been lifted. He needed to finish up soon. He tentatively reach for the man's firm grip and gently removed his hand. He set him back onto the ground. The atmosphere wasn't warm anymore.

But at least now he confident that he wouldn't wake him up.

Makoto's hands began to reach for his private area, the last thing he needed to do. He always did this for every prisoner, to ensure that they didn't wake up. But as the cloth hovered over the man's dick, Makoto found himself hesitating. He gulped, feeling the saliva seep down his throat. Why did he stop? He was so used to this. Part of him was very fearful that this time, he would wake up and kill him. He pondered chaining him up, but that wasn't a humane thing to do. After all, he didn't have the keys for those. Would it always be like this with this man? Would he always be afraid of him even when he slept? Would he always worry for his life like this? Part of him hoped not. But a more realistic part of him reminded him that this man probably wouldn't last another week. He may have annihilated two veterans but that didn't guarantee that he could pull the same stunt the next week or the following week. It was practically impossible.

Makoto hardened his heart with this bit of logic. He grabbed the man's genitals and wiped them all down, reminding himself that he was just another prisoner. There was nothing intriguing about him. He wasn't a mountain lion. He wasn't a special case. There was nothing special about him.

Nope. Nothing at all.


	7. Tension

Warning: NSFW; themes of death and depression

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: Tension<strong>

Apparently He had decided that Makoto's punishment wasn't over.

This morning's punishment had been very clear to Makoto. He lied about being sick because of the weather and truly fainted because of it. His body ached all day long and he was nowhere near feeling any better. His muscles still felt like stone weighing him down. His intensive duties in the underground prison were exhausting and now here he was trying to deal with tonight's punishment. As a matter of fact, the incident from this morning was only a slap on the wrist compared to the pain he felt now.

If Makoto had to explain to the world his present situation, he would've probably used these words: "The Emperor is having one of his days."

"Ngh!" Makoto tried to stifle his voice as his hands gripped the pearly white sheets beneath him, "…hu…rts…s….much!" His words absolutely made no sense, but the feelings were there. And the Emperor was clearly away that he was causing him pain as he mercilessly pounded into his behind.

"…Hn…ack!" Makoto cried out, immediately stifling his voice when he became conscious of it. At least he was almost done. It would all be over soon.

"Ma-ko-to," the Emperor pronounced his name teasingly between thrusts, his voice reflecting his enjoyment over watching him struggle in vain, "For a weakling that faints over a couple of sunrays, your insides are sucking me in! Do you like it that much? Or do you like it when I do it?" His hard cock rubbed harshly against his inner walls, it was driving the priest insane with tension and frustration. His body was tense and barely holding on. His mind was nearly numb but constantly kept leaping back between that numbness and unbearable pain. He didn't want to succumb to that numbness anymore. Not if it meant constantly returning to that abrupt state of pain.

"…I…uh…" The priest vaguely answered. Makoto's strength was slowly giving out, so was his ability to speak and think properly. His mind was growing hazy the more his body had to carry the weight of that man. The closer he was to his body the more he felt like pushing him away. He couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand his cock inside of him. This was probably how a cactus would feel being rubbed inside a person. He couldn't stand his thick, violating fingers that dug into the skin of his hips to push deeper inside of him. He hated his breath, his tongue, his teeth on his nape. He hated the way he would leave a trail down his spine using his tobacco-infested tongue. Or the way he would tease his nipples by pulling them until they were red. He abhorred the way he would grab his equally hard dick and whisper venomously in his ear as he stroked him to come, "You're really feeling it, aren't you?"

He didn't want to feel it.

Not with him. It was horrible. Beyond horrible. How could anyone withstand this man's touch? But then he remembered. No one else but he could satisfy the Emperor except him. Not even his wife would do it even though she was his wife. And everyone else didn't have what it took to withstand his atrocious treatments without breaking down. But that didn't change anything. Makoto still hated this no matter how honorable it was. More than that, what he hated the most was the way his cock would deflate inside of him. That was the worst part. And then his seed would rush out of him, out of his asshole, down his thigh, unto the sheets or the floor depending on where he was. And the Emperor would say, "Now you are suitable my whore." Then he would laugh. But tonight was somewhat different.

"Ah!" Makoto gasped loudly as the Emperor suddenly picked up the pace, his stiff dick penetrating his insides mercilessly, without giving him a break. Makoto could feel his muscles faltering. His arms, his legs, his hips, his rear, his mind. Everything. The creaking bed beneath them only became more deafening and quicker along the man's pace. "…My….lo…rd…plea…se…slo….ack!" Makoto weakly pleaded. Even though he knew this man was quickly reaching his climax, he couldn't stand this treatment anymore. If he failed the punishment then so be it. He just didn't want to be in so much pain anymore.

"No…way!" The Emperor responded, not easing his thrusts one bit, "We're not done…yet!"

He continued to pound into him for a while longer, Makoto could only hope that he would come soon. For once in his life, he wanted that abominable white liquid inside of him. He wanted this punishment to be over! There was only one way it could possibly happen. "Nh…" Makoto gasped, finding a new resolve to hold himself upright, "…har…der…."

The Emperor was bedazzled initially. "What?" He asked dubiously.

"Plea…se…do…it…harder…an…fas…ter!" Muttering out those unintelligible words was difficult but he felt he got his message across.

The Emperor grinned and suddenly pulled his hair. "Tch! Who do you think you are, giving me orders?!" He inquired with a teasing tone, "But since you're asking so nicely…."

He didn't finish the sentence when he suddenly picked up the pace and he began to thrust deeper and faster into Makoto's rear. Makoto could feel it. The stiff cock delving deeper in his insides ravishing the little sanity he had left in his wrecking soul. He gripped the sheets beneath him with an iron grip, his nails digging into the textile. He could care less if he ripped the sheets

"Ngh! Plea...se...don't stop!" Makoto cried desperately, losing all sense of reason, his voice echoing in the room. He no longer made sure to stifle it, his desperation defeating dignity above all else. Tears ran down his cheeks, but he had no time to wonder if it was because of the agony in his rear or his aching heart. As an effort to end this quickly, he began to move his hips faster, urging the other man to come. To end this for once and for all!

"Damn...Makoto, you can say pretty damn fine words!" was the last thing the emperor said before latching onto Makoto's hips and finally climaxing inside of him. Makoto's limbs finally crumbled beneath him and he finally collapsed, both his mind and body broken. The Emperor immediately pulled out of him as if he had not come inside of him in the first place. And here he was, trying to hold himself together. But his mind was breaking little by little. How much of this would he be able to take?

For some reason an old face popped in his mind. That's right. It was that middle aged man he had fucked with his mouth. The man had claimed he had loved him but that wasn't true, was it? How much did people really love him? He wondered as he struggled to catch his breath.

The emperor only stood by the window, not looking at him. Makoto could faintly hear the sounds of the chirping cicadas. Compared to his uneven breaths and the throbbing pain in his body, it was like hearing music, easing his body and mind if only just a little. But then...

"You know," the Emperor spoke up after a long period of silence, "I'm always thinking..."

"About what, my lord?" Makoto replied in a hoarse voice. The last thing he wanted to do was talk.

"About you and me," he continued solemnly, "I've always known that I'm fucked up. I never thought that I would find someone like me."

Makoto could hardly believe what he was hearing. Was he implying that...?

"It's like He put us on the same path," the Emperor continued with his delusional conviction, "after all, you and I belong in the same world. You're just as fucked up as I am."

Makoto wished he didn't put it that way. But in the end, was he really that far from the truth? Makoto knew from the bottom of his heart that relations between two men or two women was an unforgivable insult to Him. Priests had to abstain from sexual desires altogether. And yet, Makoto's body lusted for nothing but other men's bodies. So in the end, he really wasn't much different from the emperor was he? He was just as sick and as doomed as he was.

"But enough of that," the emperor continued, "while you were busy acting like a woman, I saw an interesting sight today.

"What was that, my lord?" Makoto asked, glad he decided to change the subject.

"I saw this kid with teal eyes take down two veterans," The Emperor replied.

Makoto's body suddenly froze and suddenly, the events of today flashed in his mind. How he had seen him so calm and peaceful as he slept on his lap. The way his massive arms tightened around his waist, like a child needing his mother. How he discovered new scars on his body and stitched them up. Everything about him was so calming. But now that he was in the same room as the Emperor his body went rigid as his mind was filled with thoughts of another man. He felt as if he Emperor could read his mind and he sure didn't want to see what he would do if he read his mind. In the end, all this summed up to was the fact that this room was suffocating. Everything about the Emperor was suffocating.

"Is that so?" Makoto could only mumble.

"Yeah," the Emperor continued, "He was a pretty massive kid. Taller than you by just a little. He took down those bums without so much as a flinch or a scratch. He was a pretty ruthless child, a beast even. He runs on instinct, it's bizarre. He's probably more fucked up than both of us combined."

Makoto recalled the first day he met him. How he had attempted to kill him. And the way he had looked at him in the arena. And how he had tried to fight off two guards despite being exhausted. The Emperor wasn't too far off on that.

"He pisses me off," the Emperor bluntly declared, "His face is so insolent. It makes me want to shoot him with a bunch of arrows."

Makoto didn't say anything. He could only watch the back of the older man, his own body too exhausted to even respond. But if there was something he knew was that the silent man would not survive the next game for sure. This time, the Emperor would take care of him. And yet…he didn't feel right about that. He did not notice as the Emperor turned around and smirked at him. He then said, "Look at you, it's only been one round and you're already falling asleep?"

The Emperor approached him and sat on the bed. Makoto could only look at him with fearful eyes. The Emperor raised his hand and traced his finger on the finely sculpted lines on Makoto's back. He followed the fine line of his back until he reached his small. "You know, you don't usually make adorable sounds and pleas the way you were doing earlier," The Emperor remarked, resting his hand on his bare butt cheek, "I've made up my mind."

He firmly squeezed the Priest's butt cheek, making Makoto squirm under his touch. "What did you decide…?" Makoto tentatively asked, regretting that decision more than any other decision he had made in his life.

"You're staying up all night with me," the Emperor declared, "I'm going to be busy for a while, so I won't be seeing you. I'm taking the time to love you properly tonight. So you better not fall asleep."

Makoto sighed internally. It was too good to be true, wasn't it? Punishment was far from being over.

* * *

><p>Makoto had never felt so miserable in his life. He never thought that this punishment would be much harder to bear than he realized. And the pain was nowhere near leaving his body. His muscles ached all over. He could barely walk properly. His voice was slightly hoarse from the failed attempts at stifling it. Sitting down was a difficult task on its own. His eyelids felt heavy with fatigue and exhaustion. But at least he wouldn't have to see the Emperor for a while. That in itself was a bit of a reward after the pain he went through last night. If he did it one more time with him anytime soon he would lose his sanity this time. After all, the agony he felt in his body was nothing compared to the pain he felt in his mind and soul. He felt filthier and filthier by the day. Being with the Emperor was a constant reminder that he was impure and a sinful person. His body was only heavy with sin and uncontrolled lust. Makoto sighed solemnly. Why was he born like this? Why did he have to be this way? Why couldn't his body choose the right body to lust after? In fact…why couldn't his body just stop feeling in general? He was a Priest. A Major Priest. He had no right to be looking at other people's bodies in a sexual manner, men or women.<p>

"Tsk…" Makoto whispered as he gritted his teeth, "Mom…dad…this is more than I can bear." _When was the last time I saw them?_ He thought in a moment of weakness. But immediately, he shook his head. He didn't even remember their faces. And even if he did, they would probably be ashamed of the kind of man he had become. It was ironic. After all, they had sent him away to "repair" him.

Funny how the world works in the more contradictory way possible.

When he least expected it, he heard a voice. "Makoto-senpai?" It was the familiar voice of a young woman he knew too well, "You're here earlier than usual! Is that a…?"

It was Gou. She was an early bird, coming as early as 6 in the morning to the underground prisons. Makoto always warned her not to come so early since it was dangerous. Now he knew that she hadn't listened to a word he said. Not that he minded, that was what made her Gou after all. Yet something was off. Normally just seeing her was enough to calm him down. But today, her presence wasn't calming him at all. Maybe it was simply because he had been drinking alcohol this morning, granted that he never drank alcohol. Much less in the mornings. But today his mind and body could only function with this strong, bitter liquid. At least that was what he told himself.

Gou set her equipment on a nearby chair. She sat facing Makoto, her face showing nothing but concern for him. She grabbed his loose arm that rested on the surface of the wooden table. How strange. Her charming sweetness and feminine warmth had no effect on him whatsoever. "Makoto-senpai," she said gently, sorrowfully, "Was it…?"

She didn't need to finish that sentence for Makoto to understand. Instead, he nodded, not answering at all. He felt so tempted to grab the bottle and drink directly from it. But he couldn't do it. Not in front of her.

"There're dark circles under your eyes and your eyes are red! Makoto-senpai, you need to go back!" Gou stated, "You have to rest! You don't look good at all."

Makoto managed to lift the corner of his lips into a sad smile. "Being here is more calming that being over there, Gou-chan," he simply replied, "I think with just a few more gulps I'll get back some of my dignity." He laughed at the last remark and he wondered if he was slightly drunk. He decided that he was.

"Makoto-senpai…" she said in a low voice, she didn't know what to say. There was nothing she could say. Nor was there anything Makoto wanted to hear in general. What did he want? He furrowed his eyebrows confusedly, his head throbbing over the lack of sleep not quite over the fact that he was just a little tipsy. Before he could fall much lower than he already was, he pushed the bottle aside. He moved his hand away from the young priestess, the residue of her warmth left on the back of his palm. He promptly arose from the table and began to walk away without uttering a word.

"Wait! Makoto-senpai! Where are you going?" Gou asked, rising up alarmed.

"Don't worry about me," Makoto replied without looking back, "I'll just check on the prisoners to see how they're doing. I'm sure most of them are asleep anyway."

"But you've been drinking!" Gou remarked anxiously.

"I'm fine," Makoto replied, "I only had a few cups." That in itself was the truth. However, she had no idea that Makoto wasn't very good at holding his liquor. After all, this was the first time he had drunk alcohol in years. That would make it two times he drank in his lifetime so far.

Gou decided not to press the issue. He was glad about that. Priests in-training as well as Priestesses did not have the right to interfere with a Major Priest's job. Major Priests could use their power against them if need be. Makoto had no intention of using that power, but in the state he was in right now, he wasn't so sure he could live up to that promise.

In the meantime, he looked for the familiar cells of his prisoners. As expected, they were all asleep. He didn't blame them. Anyone would've preferred to sleep over being awake in this grungy, lightless prison. On another note, most of them had literally fought in the battle yesterday. They must've been exhausted. He checked inside every cell, every prisoner, until he had checked everyone. He looked around, there weren't a lot of guards around in the morning. There were hardly any Priests either. Makoto could practically say that he was alone. He walked around the halls alone with his misery and slight drunkenness. The floor seemed a lot cozier than how it might've really been.

But he kept walking aimlessly, not caring where he ended up. And suddenly, he found himself within the depths of the prison. More importantly, he stood in front of the cell of the silent prisoner. Makoto stood there for a while, simply staring at the door, wondering what he should do. It was then that he began to chuckle. Why was it so difficult with this guy? Why could he not go in and check on him? Why was it so simple with the others but not him?

_He isn't special. He isn't special. He isn't special!_ Makoto shouted in his head over and over.

He forced his resolve and opened the cell, his hand quivering the entire time. Now he regretted drinking the alcohol. He slowly opened the door, expecting to find the man sleeping. His assumptions were betrayed when he found himself staring right into the other man's eyes. His eyes were once again scowling at him with such hatred, but for some reason Makoto didn't care anymore.

He walked in, leaving the door open halfway. Makoto could only stare at the man, and he stared back at him, like an animal guarding his territory. Makoto found himself laughing again when the staring contest became too much to deal with. He had lost it after all. "You know," he stated, "it's always been the same thing with everyone. I always treat them kindly before their death. I try to grant them one wish as best as I can, but there's only so much I can do. I might think I'm doing something good for others but really, I probably deserve to be in here more than anyone else." He began to laugh wildly, "I mean, is fucking a man with my mouth an accomplishment at all?!" He continued to laugh wildly until tears streamed down his eyes.

At this point, the man merely stared at him, his grimace faltering if ever so slightly, but not enough. In fact, his stern look made Makoto want to pour out his feelings even more. So what if this man listened? So what if he and the rest of the world knew? So what if he had used vulgar language to describe the truth? Wasn't it the truth after all? He _fucked _men with his mouth when they asked for it. The Emperor had given him the perfect label. A whore.

How fitting.

How matching.

How honest.

How…disgusting.

How…unfair.

How….

There were no other words that Makoto could think of. His mind had suddenly gone blank. His vision was growing hazy with exhaustion and pooling tears. His head throbbed from his headache. His body was already faltering and his sanity was beyond saving. He hated this godforsaken world. This bloody Empire. The fucked up system. He loathed the Emperor. The Arena. The underground prison. He hated this cramped cells. He hated himself. He hated his essence. His sick mind. His pitiful body. His blackened soul. His helplessness. All of it. He hated all of it. And still he wanted nothing more than do something useful for someone. He wanted to see their face smile at him with eternal gratitude.

The way he had done once. The way that man with a sharp-toothed grin had done once.

Makoto looked back at the man and remembered the Emperor's words. He hated him. He would kill him by his own hand if he could. Even if this man hated him as well, Makoto didn't want him to die. Not by the Emperor's hand at least. He wanted him to live on. His spirit could only be wasted here. But…this morning, he felt like doing something reckless. No, it was something he should've done a long time ago. His parents should've done it the moment he was born. The moment he began to display those undesirable qualities toward other boys. The moment he was allowed into the Priesthood Assembly to become a Priest. The moment he passed on to the next rank while his friends were kicked out of the Priesthood Assembly. The moment he made it to the top of the Priesthood Assembly and became a Major Priest. The moment he decided to become the Emperor's whore and anything beyond that.

He should've died. That was only right.

Makoto cleared his throat and he spoke up again, his voice firm and solemn, "I…I will grant you your freedom."

The warrior merely looked at him with the same stare. No matter what words he threw at him, he was never fazed. But Makoto wasn't concerned about that. "There aren't many guards in the morning," he continued, his tone not reassuring or gentle in the least, it was simply objective, "Right now you're in the deepest parts of the prison, but there are more guards on the eastern side. On the west side is the Priests' headquarters, so don't go there. Knowing that should help you find the way out easily. You mustn't be caught or you'll be punished severely." Makoto walked closer to him and the other man flinched the closer he got to him.

Makoto only smiled at him. His presence must've truly disgusted him, it was only natural. Makoto took out a key he obtained from one of the guards. He unlocked the shackles around his wrists and backed away as the man flexed his wrists relieved. When the man arose, Makoto noticed how he stood at his level. He was a little taller than he thought.

Makoto looked at him fearlessly in the eye and stated, "You know, normally I make people's wishes come true as best as I can with no repayments of any kind. But today I don't feel so kind." He had no idea what had taken over him that he was speaking like this. This tone of voice didn't suit him. But he had made up his mind. No matter what he did, this man wouldn't hate him any less, so it was pointless to try to convince him. "I want you to do something for me."

The man merely cocked an eyebrow, waiting for the punch line.

So this was it. "I want you to kill me."

But the other man did not flinch. He didn't look fazed or confused. He seemed so accepting of the situation as if in this moment in time, he actually understood him and his reasons. He felt like he had seen through his mind and seen everything, thus no longer having any questions about his request. That was fine with Makoto.

"Heheh," he chuckled, "won't you at least speak to me before I die? That is my second and last wish."

The prisoner didn't see the humor in it. He simply glowered at him as he usually did. Makoto found himself staring at the floor. But when he least expected it, the other man pinned him against the wall brusquely. Makoto's head ached momentarily against the brick wall. Suddenly, a pair of large hands held his neck and another pair of large thumbs blocked the air in his throat.

He couldn't breathe properly.

His hands reached for the other's wrists.

He wasn't sure what he was feeling.

But in the end did it matter? After all, he asked for this. He said he wanted this. So this would be it, right?

And yet, something wasn't right. And then he knew. This man wasn't smiling. He wasn't smiling at him the way the red-haired man had smiled at him. He was glowering at him. Was that the last thing he really wanted to see? A man's scowling face? He wasn't sure how much of what was going on was real. Whether this man was real or this situation, he could not say. For all he knew this could've been a very realistic nightmare. But dream or not, Makoto could say something with certainty.

The burning tears that streamed down his cold cheeks were real.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: oh my...I'm dying. I wanted to announce that this will be the last chapter I will be publishing in a while because I've left my other story alone for too damn long. I really need to get back to it. I'm not going on a hiatus or anything but my readers from the other story DESERVE at least 3 new chapters after making them wait for so long. I will also be starting school again so it might also take me a while to establish myself (uugh, the paaainnn!). Let me know if you like this story so far and thanks for reading.

**Disclaimer**: I am in no position to say I have been clinically depressed. I want to let everyone know that I do not take depression (as well as rape) lightly. Both are very serious matters and I would not want anyone to be insulted or feel "unsafe" reading this. I know this is contradictory since this work is meant to be read, but if this makes you uncomfortable in any way, I urge you to stop reading as my intention is to not make you feel that way. I try to write my stories with as much depth as possible without going overboard, which can be pretty difficult :( soooo I'm sorry if I have insulted you in any way!


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